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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27853602">dude, you're embarrassing me in front of the wizards</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/screwbeautifulimbrilliant/pseuds/screwbeautifulimbrilliant'>screwbeautifulimbrilliant</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ilvermorny, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, F/M, Gen, Minor Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Minor Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Virgin Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:34:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>43,717</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27853602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/screwbeautifulimbrilliant/pseuds/screwbeautifulimbrilliant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>a ragtag bunch of magical sixth-years deal with their problems. oh, and save the world along the way. </p><p>or,</p><p>the Ilvermorny AU no one asked for.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bruce Banner &amp; Tony Stark, Clint Barton &amp; Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Laura Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Steve Rogers, Maria Hill &amp; Natasha Romanov, Maria Hill/Sam Wilson, Pepper Potts &amp; Natasha Romanov, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers &amp; Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. the quiet carriage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Natasha Romanoff let her Flerken loose on other people, she was too young to stand trial before the Wizengamot. </p>
<p>The second time it happened, her legal guardian had the good sense not to turn her in to MACUSA’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but Nick Fury was not thrilled about having to perform a memory modification charm on their No-Maj neighbours.</p>
<p>There hasn’t been a third time (yet), but Natasha is tempted to let Goose have a go at the babbling first-years in the Ilvermorny-Trak Quiet Carriage. </p>
<p>
  <em>“I really hope I’m in Thunderbird, I hear they have the best common room!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“But Wampus has the best Quidditch team!” </em>
</p>
<p>As amusing as it might be to watch Goose terrify them, she has to keep reminding herself that MACUSA gave her special dispensation to keep her Flerken as long as people continue to believe Goose is a cat, and that swallowing people whole and sending them to other dimensions is wholly unacceptable behaviour for a cat. </p>
<p>Pepper, who boarded sometime in the second hour in Los Angeles, doesn’t seem to mind the chatter. She’s reading some Arithmancy book, and seems very engrossed in it. It’s only been three hours into this journey, but Natasha doesn’t know how Pepper doesn’t combust from boredom on the Il-Trak, which starts its journey from the west coast every year. (Natasha rues the day MACUSA sent Nick Fury’s Auror team to the Cascades without providing them a Portkey back to DC.) </p>
<p>
  <em>“The Pukwudgies have the nicest Head of House though, and it might be good to have a nice professor…”</em>
</p>
<p>Good god, will they just shut up? She might not be able to let Goose loose on them, but she could practice her Wandless non-verbal magic. Like a Body-bind spell. Or a Lip-Gluing charm. Or a Voice Reducing charm. A single finger twitch, and -</p>
<p>A movement in her peripheral vision.</p>
<p>Alas. Nick is awake.</p>
<p>As though he’d heard her speak it aloud, he glances her, from across the aisle where he sat. Professor Nick Fury is a skilled Occlumens, but his meaning is clear. No. </p>
<p>Natasha purses her lips, glaring at him. His smile is almost genuine. Instead, he taps his chest where there would have been a school crest had he been in a uniform. She glances down at hers, where a golden badge was pinned over the Gordian knot crest. Right. She’s a Prefect now. It’s kind of funny, if you consider her family history and who she was before Fury’d taken her in. Would be shame to let that nice new badge go to waste.</p>
<p>She stands up and makes her way over to the first years.</p>
<p>“Can it,” she growls. It comes out harsher than she expected. “Or I’ll have you written up for public nuisance before you even get Sorted.” She points at the Quiet Carriage sign. The first years look up at it like they’ve just learnt how to read.</p>
<p>“Shit.”</p>
<p>“Oh!”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” one of them squeaks apologetically. They shrink in their seats.</p>
<p>“The next carriage is for noisemakers,” Fury adds helpfully. His eyepatch - identifying him as the fabled Professor Nick Fury - probably does not help matters. The carriage door slides open as the first years hastily make their exit. Pepper turns a page idly as Natasha returns to her seat.</p>
<p>“You’ll have your reputation cemented among the first years by the time we get to school, you know.”</p>
<p>“I’m counting on it.” Natasha smirks, kicking her feet up on the empty seat opposite her and leaning back in her seat to enjoy the scenery as they pulled into Colorado. Goose meows her agreement.</p>
<p>//</p>
<p>Clint is surprised to see Tasha next to Pepper when he boards the Il-Trak in Missouri. She is usually the last of their group to board in DC, after Maria in Illinois. He probably shouldn’t be quite so surprised - chances were that she mentioned it in one of her letters, but Clint had never been much for reading. Especially not this summer after OWLs, anyway. He points at Tasha by way of question, who is sleeping. Or pretending to be asleep. If she is, she’s doing a very good job of it.</p>
<p>“Professor Fury had work. They boarded in the Cascades.” Pepper whispers, gesturing to their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor in the booth across their from the aisle. Professor Fury raises a hand in greeting without looking away from his scroll. He’s definitely used to their antics by now. Clint pauses. He had expected the train to be much noisier, but then he realises…</p>
<p>“Why are we in the Quiet Carriage?”</p>
<p>Pepper’s eyes flick over to him. Her voice is low, but faintly irritated. “Because we like the quiet.”</p>
<p>He settles into his seat opposite Tasha, one hand reaching to scratch Goose behind her ears in greeting before propping his legs on the empty seat next to him and closing his eyes. </p>
<p>When Clint next opens his eyes, warm hands are shoving his legs off the seat they had been propped on; he lands on the carpeted floor before he can react, and Natasha is barely repressing her laughter. Damn Natasha. Maria is seated where he used to be. Damn Maria.</p>
<p>“What the-”</p>
<p>Maria presses a finger to her lips and pats the seat next to her consolingly. “It’s the Quiet Carriage, Barton.” </p>
<p>Clint grumbles, but settles into his new seat opposite Pepper. He swears that Professor Fury and the damn cat are laughing at him from the other side of the aisle.</p>
<p>//</p>
<p>“What are they all looking at?” Steve mutters to Bucky. The other students watch as they haul their trunks into the storage compartment and their owl cages are handed to the menagerie carriage manager.</p>
<p>“You,” Bucky says, shoving his trunk into place and dusting his hands with an air of satisfaction. “I told you, Stevie, you’re a man now.”</p>
<p>“I haven’t changed that much!” Steve protests, following him through the main aisle of the train, looking for Sam. The seats on the Il-Trak usually start to peter out a little after Illinois, but Sam’s had seats saved since he boarded in Colorado.</p>
<p>Bucky waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Puberty was very kind to you.”</p>
<p>Steve ducks his head, embarrassed. “Please don’t ever say that to anyone in front of me ever again.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, you’ll always be that same self-deprecating punk who doesn’t know how to back down from a fight to me.” Bucky claps him on the shoulder and then grins when he spots the third member of their trio through the doors of the compartment. “Yo, Wilson!”</p>
<p>Sam waves back, but doesn’t shout. Instead, he did a visible double take as Steve trails behind Bucky. Steve glances down at himself dubiously. Had he really changed that much? “You glowed up! For a minute there I didn’t recognise you.” And he jabs a finger into his chest. Ow. </p>
<p>Sam stares at the badge on Steve’s vest. “How’d you wrangle Prefect?”</p>
<p>Bucky pauses in his seat to make a noise of disbelief at Sam. “Are you kidding? The real question is how you thought anyone else would get it. He’s obviously Professor Erskine’s favourite student.”</p>
<p>Sam thinks about this for a moment, and then concedes. “True.”</p>
<p>“Excuse me, boys,” Professor May taps Steve on the shoulder. “You’re holding up the aisle.”</p>
<p>“Apologies, professor,” Steve mumbles, shuffling into his seat next to Sam.</p>
<p>“Still a giant nerd,” Bucky grins.</p>
<p>“So, how was your summer?” Sam asks, as the train began to pull out from the station.</p>
<p>“Great,” Bucky enthuses. “Met some really sweet girls…”</p>
<p>“He means Darcy Le- ow!” Steve yelps as Bucky pinches him in the ribs. “You didn’t say I couldn’t- ow!”</p>
<p>“Shhhh,” Maria Hill’s head pops over from the group of seats behind theirs, pointing to the Quiet Carriage sign. Sam immediately flushes under his dark skin. “You’re annoying Natasha’s cat.”</p>
<p>As if on cue, the ginger tabby, curled up in the lap of its equally ginger owner, lets out a hiss. </p>
<p>“Remind me why you chose a seat in the Quiet Carriage, again?” Bucky smirks like he’s just been vindicated. Sam says nothing in his own defence. </p>
<p>//</p>
<p>Tony might be a playboy and descended from wizarding philanthropic legacies, but he is also a genius. He knows very well that at this point in Il-Trak’s journey, two hours out from school, the only way he’d be able to find a seat with Bruce - who also boarded in New York - is sheer dumb luck. Everyone else’s friend group seems to always have one person who boards before the Midwest. </p>
<p>Tragedy, really.</p>
<p>After a trawl up and down the twenty carriages, the only seats available in close proximity, it seems, are currently occupied by a fat orange cat and directly opposite their Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration professors, who appear to be having a quiet discussion over a set of scrolls. This is really unsurprising: Professor May was arguably the strictest of their professors, and Fury was rumoured to be a Legilimens. (This has yet to be proven.) Tony makes a shooing motion at the cat, who refuses to budge from where it’s sprawled out on the two seats. He can’t believe that he’s having a staring competition with a cat. “Come on. Shoo.”</p>
<p>“Be nice,” Bruce says. He extends a hand towards the cat. “Can I-” Tony swears that the cat’s eyes narrow just a smidgen before retreating onto a single seat.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Bruce says, settling into his seat. The professors nod at Bruce like he did the right thing. Like the cat is sentient. Like the cat actually moved because he was nice to it. Bruce nods at Professors Fury and May. To Tony, he says, “QED.”</p>
<p>Tony attempts to swat the cat away again, but the cat hisses at him. “Come on. I need a place to sit down.”</p>
<p>The cat continues to glare at him.</p>
<p>Behind him, he hears a chuckle. </p>
<p>Tony turns. “Something funny?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, a little,” Clint Barton admits, scratching his undercut. Ah, yes, Clint Barton and his harem of beautiful women. He’d always wondered how someone like Barton had managed to hang out with the three most gorgeous girls in school. Gorgeous and intelligent, Tony corrects himself, partly in the event that Fury is listening in on his thoughts - assuming that’s how it works; Tony’s never really bothered understanding Legilimency - but mostly because knows that his mother would never let him live it down if he judged people solely on how pretty they were. </p>
<p>“You should be nicer to her,” Pepper Potts - the stunning goddess who also happens to be the object of Tony's not-so-subtle affection - comments, not looking up from her book.</p>
<p>A cat is an it, not a her. He doesn't point this out to Pepper, which should really earn him some brownie points. “Whose cat is it? Why is it taking a seat meant for humans?”</p>
<p>“Goose,” Natasha Romanoff makes a clicking noise, and the cat slinks off the seat reluctantly. Ah, of course. Like cat, like owner. Or something. “Let him plonk his fat ass down. And you—stop irritating my cat.” </p>
<p>He doesn’t notice Romanoff whip out her wand, but someone’s - he's guessing Maria Hill - definitely pulled a wand on him because his lips are stuck together before he can say anything else. Tony isn’t sure if anyone in the carriage noticed that he’s been hexed, or they just think he’s just cheesed off about being told off by Romanoff and he’s stewing in silence. </p>
<p>When Bruce finally notices that Tony is uncharacteristically non-hyper verbal two hours later when they disembark, he undoes the hex - but not before Tony notices that Professors May and Fury are sharing a silent laugh at his expense. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Songs about Cauldron Cakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>in which Tony writes songs about magical confectionery, Natasha loses her broom, and bets on love lives are made.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tradition dictates that for the first breakfast of the school year, people have to sit with their Houses.</p><p>The rest of the year is fair game. Natasha didn’t know who came up with that rule, but she’s glad that it is just for one day in the entire year. The idea of having to sit with idiots like Rumlow and Shostakov for the rest of the year turns her stomach. (She’s also a little sure that the guys in Wampus and the girls in Pukwudgie would also have an issue with the gender imbalance at their House table. Just a little.)</p><p>Just as she and Clint are settling in at the Wampus table, there is a bit of a commotion at the Pukwudgie table. Bucky Barnes slides into the empty seat next to her just as the uproar starts to die down. To Natasha, he’s one of the more tolerable people in Wampus, even if others consider him slightly self-aggrandising.</p><p>“What was that about?” Clint asks, by way of greeting. She nods at Bucky, who nods back in acknowledgment. The food hasn’t appeared yet, and the impatience is radiating off Clint in waves. She can practically hear him mentally scream - <em>Hasn’t anyone told the kitchens that breakfast is the most important meal of the day? -</em> and she tries to suppress her amusement.</p><p>Belatedly, she realises that Bucky is talking to them, and tunes back in. “…Steve bulked up over the summer. I heard from Sam that the Pukwudgie girls went crazy last night, and they haven’t stopped since.” Bucky rolls his eyes.</p><p>Clint turns to look, but from where she sits she can see the blond broad-shouldered boy at the Pukwudgie table and the cloud of female intrigue following him around. If Bucky hadn’t mentioned Steve’s name, she might not have recognised him. She can understand why the girls are crazy, and the faint note of irritation in Bucky’s voice.</p><p>“What, you jealous, Barnes?” Clint grins cheekily at him.</p><p>Natasha can see why. Bucky had been the charming rogue in their trio of friends before, and now he has to compete with <em>that</em>. Even though she knows she’d have picked Rogers - even without those shoulders - over Barnes any day, she knows there are shallower people than that in school.</p><p>“He’s still the same on the inside. If he picks a girl who was attracted to him now when she wasn’t before, it’s not going to last very long. Besides, you don’t really want that kind of girl anyway.”</p><p>Clint raises an eyebrow at her. <em>Where is all this coming from? </em></p><p>She shrugs, purposefully misunderstanding his eyebrow raise. “It’s true.”</p><p>“And how would you know if his insides are the same?”</p><p>“Are you kidding? Look at how he’s cringing from all the attention. If he’s become anything like you, Barnes, it’d show.”</p><p>Professor Carter calls for silence in the Dining Hall before Bucky can demand an explanation of her comment. A shadow appears behind Clint, and a honeyed, hurried voice cuts into their conversation.</p><p>“This seat taken?”</p><p>Clint doesn’t turn to see who’s looming behind him, but Natasha lets the bemused expression on her face tell him exactly who it is. Clint spent the last year just mooning over the gorgeous, older, (and very unavailable) Bobbi Morse, but she’s pretty sure Clint is a changed man this year. He did spend the vast majority of his time on Il-Trak just daydreaming, so it really wasn’t hard to pick through his thoughts.</p><p>So when he turns around to find coiffed blonde hair and a perfectly manicured nail pointing at the empty space next to him, he doesn’t stammer or blush. He simply pats the spot next to him, and goes “no, it’s all yours, Bobbi.” Bobbi sits down quickly just as Professor Carter starts talking.</p><p>He should probably work on his delivery.</p><p>Bobbi flashes him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”</p><p>She tunes Professor Carter out even though she knows she, as a Prefect, should pay attention. She knows she’s not the only one who does. Most of them have been here long enough that they know the typical announcements by heart: Quidditch trials, the Restricted areas in school, any rule-breaking will cost your House points.</p><p>As Professor Carter speaks, a dreamy expression appears on Clint’s face, and Natasha decides to venture into his mind a little - he is presently wandering back around the fields of Missouri, where the summer sky is blue and the fields are always gold, and there were cows and a supply of fresh air that was an enchantment all unto itself. No magic required. Just the simple, No-Maj life. And a girl. A beautiful, kind, industrious girl called Laura. No-Maj Laura with the big brown eyes and sun-streaked hair and - Natasha kicks him under the table, a smirk on her face. “Pay attention.”</p><p>“…And to conclude this morning’s announcements, I would just like to remind everyone that MACUSA has issued a Orange Level Alert for Dark Energy sightings…”</p><p>“What the hell does that even mean?” Bucky mutters.</p><p>Natasha and Bobbi exchange looks. Being a No-Maj-born didn’t excuse him for not keeping up with wizarding news.</p><p>“It means you haven’t been reading the <em>The Magister Times</em>,” Bobbi makes a face. “What were you doing all summer?”</p><p>“Even <em>I</em> heard about it,” Clint whispers. “And I hate reading.”</p><p>Natasha makes a zipping gesture with her hands. Professor Carter has her full attention now.</p><p>“…I would like to remind everyone that while Ilvermorny’s castle grounds have been given the maximum protection that we can afford, it is by no means to drop your guard…”</p><p>“No,” Bucky says, “but seriously. What’s this Dark Energy alert about?”</p><p>“Dark Energy spikes worrying MACUSA,” Natasha says, motioning for him to keep quiet. She’s <em>this</em> close to Lip-Gluing him like she did with Tony yesterday.</p><p>“I get that, but… what <em>is</em> it?” Bucky asks. “Is it like… another Grindelwald, or…”</p><p>“Shh,” Bobbi shushes him.</p><p>“…we will have Prefects patrolling the castle grounds after hours this year in addition to your teachers…”</p><p>Natasha <em>knew</em> there was a catch involved somewhere when Fury’d handed her the Prefect badge earlier this summer. Clint kicks her under the table. “Wanna bet that the other Prefects are gonna shit bricks if they find any Dark Energy?”</p><p>“…if you come across <em>any</em> anomalies, please do not engage. Inform your tutors immediately…”</p><p>“No, seriously,” Bucky hisses. “What is this about?”</p><p>“That is all for this morning’s announcements,” Professor Carter concludes. “Sixth years, please stay behind for timetable assignments. The rest of you are dismissed.”</p><p>“Good luck,” Bobbi says, patting Clint on the shoulder before leaving the hall with the rest of the seventh years. He freezes for a moment, and Natasha gives Clint a shit-eating grin. Clint responds with another kick under the table.</p><p>“Ow!”</p><p>“Eat shit, Tash.” She laughs at the accuracy of his insult.</p><p>“Is no one going to explain the Dark Energy thing to me?” Bucky grouses.</p><p>Not missing a beat, Clint jumps in. “It’s some kind of magic-generated epidemic. Whatever it is, I hear they’ve had to ship quite a few people off to St Polycarp’s in San Francisco to get treatment. No-Majs too, apparently.”</p><p>“But what is it?” Bucky presses.</p><p>Clint shrugs. “I know as much as the<em> Magister Times</em> does.”</p><p>“Come on, Romanoff, you spent the summer interning with MACUSA. What are they not telling us?” Bucky tips his chin at Natasha.</p><p>Technically, she’s not bound by an Unbreakable Vow - her “internship” had only come about because Fury had insisted on letting her tag along for his Auror Consultancy with MACUSA, and MACUSA didn’t bother putting through the paperwork for an official internship because she’s a “high security risk” individual given her family background - so she’s not not-allowed to talk about Fury’s work outside of the Auror team.</p><p>But, on the other hand, she’s never been particularly inclined to sharing information, and blabbing her mouth about this summer certainly won’t endear her to the Auror department at MACUSA, where Fury has made clear he intends for her to work after graduation. </p><p>So she just shrugs and says, “couldn’t tell you,” which is also technically true.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Having managed to dodge most of the Pukwudgie girls who were fawning over him at breakfast on the pretext of first period NEWT Transfiguration (which is not a lie), Steve and Sam run, slightly breathless, into a second-floor classroom in the main building of the castle.</p><p>They’re lucky that Professor May isn’t here yet. She’s usually a stickler for punctuality.</p><p>He’s been partners with Rollins since first year and the only difference each year is where they end up sitting in the classroom. He slides his finger down the seating chart, looking for <em>Rogers</em>. He finds it, second row from the back, but is surprised that his desk partner is now <em>Romanoff.</em> He supposes it might be good for him to have a switch in partners; she’s far less likely to attempt transforming things into phalluses or phallus-shaped objects. Come to think of it, this might also explain why Rollins isn’t here.</p><p>He slides into his seat, and Bucky, at the front of the classroom, pulls a face at him from next to Bruce Banner. At least he’s not the only one who’s switched partners. From the looks of it, half the class is gone from Transfiguration. Romanoff pauses in her conversation with Jane Foster, seated at the table in front of them, when he puts his bag on the table. He’s not sure if he’s ever been on the receiving end of a genuine smile from Natasha Romanoff before, but if this is what puberty is doing for him, he’ll take it. She finishes her conversation with Foster, and then turns to him with a smile. “Rogers.”</p><p>He smiles back. “Romanoff.”</p><p>Sam makes a coughing sound behind him that sounds suspiciously like ‘<em>puberty</em>’ and Steve glares at him. Sam knows all about Steve’s small crush which started back in second year after she hexed Gideon Malick with a Total Body Bind. Sam also bears witness to the number of vermillion pastels he’d gone through to sketch her hair just right (‘<em>she’s a difficult person to draw</em>’, Steve had insisted). Whenever either of his friends bring it up, Steve constantly reminds them that this brief infatuation had been cured after her brief flirtation with Shostakov in fourth year (‘<em>well, there’s no accounting for taste</em>’, Sam said) and the fact that she and Barton are practically joined at the hip.</p><p>Aside from that shallow romantic notion on his part, he and Romanoff have maintained a civil relationship throughout the last four years. It’s not going to change now just because he’s broader and taller.</p><p>“How was your summer?” He asks, mostly out of courtesy than anything else.</p><p>She blinks, no doubt surprised that he’s asking. The surprise disappears almost as quickly as it came, schooling her expression into one of smooth disengagement. “Good. Yours?”</p><p>“It was great.” She smiles a little at his answer, and in his head, images of his summer, of practising Quidditch, of spending time with his No-Maj extended family - getting milkshakes from his favourite diner, of art classes and Coney Island - flicker to the forefront of his mind like a movie. “Lots of malted milkshakes.”</p><p>“Shaken milk? A No-Maj confection?” Her expression is politely puzzled. He forgets that sometimes pure-bloods don’t always understand No-Maj references, since most students at Ilvermorny have some No-Maj running through their veins in varying degrees: Bucky is a No-Maj-born; Sam’s mother is a No-Maj-born; Steve himself is half No-Maj.</p><p>“Yeah. You should try it when you’re back in the No-Maj world. Or, you know, if you want, I could try to make some, but…”</p><p>“Food is an exception to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration,” Natasha nods knowingly. “Don’t worry about it.”</p><p>Sam makes another coughing noise behind him. Natasha’s lips quirk up in what Steve hopes is amusement while Steve is mortified. With such troll-like subtlety, it’s not hard to figure out what Sam is thinking. What she does next surprises him a little.</p><p>“I bet you’ve had a milkshake,” she turns in her seat to smirk at Sam, who chokes on his spit. Good. Serves him right.</p><p>Sam’s Transfiguration desk partner, Tony Stark, leers at her in a slightly gleeful manner. Tony is from one of the most eccentric and influential pure-blood families in the wizarding community. He’s not sure how, but they also have significant influence in the No-Maj world. Steve has been subjected to Tony’s presence at least once every school holiday since he’d been born because his father once had the (mis)fortune of being Howard Stark’s classmate back in the day.</p><p>“You know, there’s a very famous No-Maj song about milkshakes,” Tony begins, “and-”</p><p>“-no, no, Tony, don’t even-” Steve cowers in his seat. His mother raised him to be better than that. Next to Tony, Sam is enjoying this, the bastard.</p><p>“-it is about the very-”</p><p>“There’s a song about a No-Maj confection,” Natasha interrupts. “As a metaphor, presumably?”</p><p>“There are multiple songs, in fact,” Tony continues. He’s really getting into his element. “There’s one about lollipops - the non-Acid kind - and another about ice cream-”</p><p>“<em>Thank</em> you, Anthony,” Steve cuts him off.</p><p>“I wonder why there aren’t similar songs about, say, Cauldron Cakes or Pepper Imps,” Natasha muses, a twinkle in her eye. Oh, she’s enjoying his discomfiture as much as they are.</p><p>Tony lets out a bark of laughter and Sam tries to stifle a grin. “Oh, I could think of a few metaphors with Cauldron Cakes.” He mimes holding two Cauldron Cakes, one in each hand.</p><p>“You’re disgusting,” Steve says, thumping him on the head with a sheaf of parchment. Natasha chuckles darkly. Of course dirty talk wouldn’t faze her. Steve suddenly realises that if he had ever considered himself over his crush on her, whatever progress he’d made had slowly been creeping back up on him ever since she’d been cheated on by Matt Murdock last year. He turns away, assiduously avoiding eye contact with all three of them.</p><p>“And speaking of Pepper,” Tony continues, glancing at Pepper Potts - Tony's on-off girlfriend - on the other side of the classroom, “tell me-”</p><p>“No.” Natasha cuts him off at the pass with a withering look, turning back around to the front of the classroom. Tony is saved from having to reply by the arrival of Professor May, who begins barking orders at them before she even is properly situated behind her mahogany desk.</p><p>“Good morning, sixth years. I will not trouble you with a speech about Transfiguration NEWTs. I think the difficulty of the NEWTs speak for themselves, and the syllabus for what will be tested can be found in your <em>Guide to Advanced Transfiguration</em>. Please could you turn your books to page 7, and we’ll begin on Conjuration spells…”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Later that night, Natasha twists in her four-poster bed, trying to see if the Dark Energy Sensors on her desk have picked up anything new. The levels have held steady since she’d set them up, so she shuts her eyes and tries to go to sleep.</p><p>By some fluke - magical or otherwise - all the other sixth year girls are in other Houses. In other words, this entire room belongs to Natasha, which she had taken advantage of to set up surveillance equipment: the Foe-Glass that the Auror Monica Rambeau had helped bewitch to look like a normal mirror to anyone else deigning to visit her room; an Aura Counter to pick up any spikes in sinister auras and a bewitched plywood diorama of the castle and its grounds. She’s sure that Fury appreciates having an extra eye on the situation - a little joke, she thinks, seeing as the man’s only got one eye - but she wonders how much trouble he’ll tolerate from her (and possibly Clint and Maria) when she actually gets round to tracking down the source of the magical disturbances.</p><p>Goose is curled up on her usual seat by the window. Natasha offers the cat a small smile.</p><p>“You’ll wake me if the devices change, right?”</p><p>Goose only flicks her tail in response.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“This seat taken?”</p><p>Tony is surprised, but mostly suspicious, when he looks up from his notebook to see Natasha Romanoff pointing at the spare seat next to him on Tuesday afternoon. To be fair, there are only a handful of them taking Potions this year, and Maria Hill is already seated with Valkyrie and Helen Cho in the front-most cluster of desks. She shoots Romanoff an apologetic look, but Romanoff doesn’t seem too torn up by this.</p><p>Tony’s eyes narrow. “If you’re planning to mooch off our grades, Romanoff-”</p><p>Her lips twist into a smirk and she drops into the chair anyway and her book bag hits the floor with a thud. “I can do my own thing.”</p><p>Bruce offers her a tentative wave from across the table. She smiles back, her eyes darting between them. Tony gives Bruce a quick once over - he doesn’t look as shabby as he could for this week - but Bruce is naturally a little unkempt; so, really, there is no reason to suspect anything.</p><p>“You okay, Banner?”</p><p>“What?” Bruce sounds as stunned as Tony feels. <em>How does she know?</em></p><p>“With me sitting here,” Natasha clarifies, tapping the wooden bench top.</p><p>“Be my guest,” Bruce says with a weak laugh. Tony’s butthole unclenches. Tony’s always known Bruce’s got a bad poker face, and it’s currently betraying him in this moment because Romanoff’s eyes skate perceptively over the two of them. Bruce drops his gaze back to his textbook, but she’s still watching him. Her unnerving gaze swings over to him, instead. He knows they’re indoors, but he pops his tinted sunglasses over his eyes anyway in case she’s learnt anything from Fury. She probes a little longer with her gaze, but turns away as Professor Pym calls the class to order. Tony lets out a small sigh of relief and flips his textbook to the potion on today’s class: Regermination Potions.</p><p>The room begins to fill with the sound of their daggers on the cutting tiles and the smell of grated sandalwood hangs heavily around the classroom. They work in silence for a while until Tony can’t take it. He’s always been the kind of person to think aloud.</p><p>“Imagine if we didn’t take Herbology,” Tony mutters to no one in particular as he minces up asphodel root with his silver blade, “this potion would be absolutely moot.”</p><p>Tony glances over at Bruce’s cauldron; Bruce’s solution is pale green, which is what it should be right after he adds the measure of dried pine needles.</p><p>“I wonder if they’ll let us bring some into Herbology,” Bruce muses.</p><p>“Or they could just take the good ones we make here to feed into Professor Logan’s greenhouses.”</p><p>They descend into a discussion of what the Professor Pym does with the acceptable draughts that they manage to brew - Bruce thinks a simple Vanishing spell would do; Tony thinks the teachers might hang on to their potions wherever they are necessary around the school - and in this regard, Romanoff is a good bench mate. She takes their conversation in stride, occasionally jumping in with a witty quip but otherwise staying focused on her cauldron and its contents. He glances over to her corner, where she’s measuring armadillo bile into a graduated cylinder. She’s already on the third-last step of the potion. She’s fast, but she’s not doing a very good job of it, seeing as she’s a half-measure over the required amount. He’d have added a little extra himself, but not a whole half-measure; he’d just add one or two drops. “Whoa, Romanoff.”</p><p>Romanoff ignores him and adds the bile into her cauldron while he and Bruce watch silently. She stirs the potion counter-clockwise thrice then sets her cauldron to simmer. She doesn’t look up from where she’s prodding the fire when she next opens her mouth. “Can I <em>help</em> you boys?”</p><p>“I thought the recipe called for twenty milliliters of armadillo bile,” Tony observes glibly. Armadillo bile when combined with a Conflagration spell is dangerous and he wonders if she knows that.</p><p>“Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of Potions maverick, Stark?”</p><p>“Wasn’t aware I wasn’t the only one.”</p><p>She shrugs, her lips turning up in a small smile. “Take a look.” Tony does. The potion is a rich forest green, slightly murky and shimmering slightly, exactly the shade it would be if he’d gone into a Horizon Alley shop and bought one off the shelf at Gardner’s Emporium himself. Tony knows that armadillo bile is an active reagent, but it’s also a highly combustable substance, and he doesn’t care enough about plants to want to figure out how to make more potent Regermination potions. Bruce seems to think the same thing, too.</p><p>“Half a measure might be too much. It might…” Bruce’s hands make an exploding motion. He knows that Bruce is wary of damaging his new cauldron after what he spent his summer doing - but Tony can spring him a new one because he's just a generous friend like that. (Okay, maybe because Tony suggested something that caused it to blow up in the first place. But also because he’s generous like that.)</p><p>“Neutralised.”</p><p>The potion turns a deep, crystal-clear emerald.</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“Magic,” Romanoff says. He can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not at this point, but if it’s not exploding he’ll take it.</p><p>“Seriously.” His voice is even, but she must have seen something in his expression, because she relents.</p><p>“I made some recipe changes.”</p><p>Tony raises an eyebrow and makes a beckoning motion. “Let’s see them.”</p><p>She slides her copy of <em>Advanced Potions Making</em> across to them. In addition to the increased armadillo bile, she’s added the juice of a Flutterby berry and two scrapes of murtlap bark. Of course. The Flutterby berry would produce the von Helzer reaction, the murtlap would produce an insoluble residue with the by-product, and thus the Regermination Potion could be decanted with a simple Stratification spell. Simple, but effective. Half of Tony’s mind is already racing with possibilities about how to use this simple workaround, and the other half is kicking himself for not figuring this out sooner.</p><p>“Do you want to come work for Stark Industries after graduation? Just say the word. You and Bruce can head up the Potions division. All yours. Subject to what my dad says, of course.”</p><p>She lets out a low, throaty laugh as Bruce slides her book back to her. “Thanks, but I’ll have to think about it.”</p><p>Just then, Professor Pym sweeps by their table, glancing into their cauldrons. He nods at the contents of their cauldrons, commending them on the rich shade of green they've become. He then peers into Romanoff’s cauldron, and while his placid smile brightens at the deep, clear green in her cauldron, his brows knit together quickly. He’s seen the empty bile bottle at Romanoff’s station, no doubt. “It’s a good thing you’re all at this table,” he mumbles as he ambles away from their workstations. “Keep all the explosions in one place.”</p><p>Professor Pym has clearly not forgotten how, less than a full day ago, Bruce and Tony almost set fire to this very same Potions classroom while experimenting with the inclusion of Bubotuber pus as an active ingredient in the Wolfsbane potion. He had been in half a mind to ban them from office hours permanently because, as it turns out, Bubotuber pus should never be used as the base solvent for a Wolfsbane potion. But he would never. Not really. Tony and Bruce are his favourite students in all of Ilvermorny history. (Excluding maybe his daughter, who’s a couple of years behind them.)</p><p>Bruce and Romanoff exchange an amused look that lasts a beat too long and makes Tony wonder if he should start a betting pool on them. Maybe not, he decides. Given Romanoff’s track record with dating, he should probably wish better for his best friend anyway.</p><p>“By the way, you never told me what you were trying to stop from exploding,” she prompts, decanting her finished potion into a glass phial for grading.</p><p>“I never said we were,” Bruce begins. Romanoff pins him with an eyebrow raise because Bruce is a shit liar.</p><p>“Uh…” Bruce begins. He glances at Tony for help.</p><p>“Bubotuber pus,” Tony supplies. It can’t hurt to tell her that it’s Bubotuber pus. Bubotubers are naturally explosive things. Natasha nods.</p><p>“I’ll let you know if I ever figure it out,” she says, popping in the stopper.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>When they get to Greenhouse Six on Thursday afternoon - their last lesson of the day - there is what appears to be congealed berry spatter on a broken glass window in one corner, which sets off a series of comments as they file into the classroom, dodging the snapping red flowers already present on the work surfaces.</p><p>“What is that?”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“Oh god, that smell is awful.”</p><p>“To your seats,” Professor Logan claps his muddy hands and points to the seating chart. “Chop chop.”</p><p>Professor Logan is the only other professor who assigns seats (or in this case, potting stations) to his students. He doesn’t even have the decency to do it by surname; it’s an arbitrary sequence where he breaks up established groups of friends to make sure he doesn’t get unnecessary chatter in class. This system worked well for Natasha last year - she’d had the benefit of Helen Cho’s keen insight in her OWL year - but it seems that her luck this year means that she’s been assigned the corner by the broken window. She shuffles to her allotted station reluctantly, and tries not to retch as the rich smell of dragon manure floats around the greenhouse, buoyed by the cold air blasting through the broken window.</p><p>“Hi,” Steve Rogers settles into the seat next to her.</p><p>“You again,” Natasha says, not in an unfriendly manner. As desk mates go, Rogers is actually pretty decent. It could be much worse.</p><p>“Me again,” he confirms amiably, as Professor Logan calls the class to order.</p><p>“Welcome to NEWT Herbology,” Professor Logan says gruffly. “The plants we’ll cover this year usually require more than one wrangler, so… see your bench mate? You’ll be working together the rest of the year.” He chuckles. Natasha wonders what the joke is until she glances around the room: Clint is by Helen Cho in the front left corner; Pepper is in the other back corner of the greenhouse with Fandral; and Maria is in the front right corner with Banner. It seems Professor Logan has purposely paired students based on their physical strength and propensity for Herbology. She tries not to think too hard about whether she’s the assigned muscle or brain.</p><p>“Today,” Professor Logan continues gruffly, “we will be learning how to prune a Savage Poppybush. If you would turn to pages 25 and 26 of your <em>NEWT Herbology</em> <em>Syllabary</em>… watch out for the plants, please…”</p><p>Around the classroom, the potted red plants make grabs for the copies of the <em>Syllabaries</em> that have found their way onto the table. Seemingly oblivious to this, Steve pulls out a pair of blood-red dragon hide gardening gloves from inside his coveralls - she flexes her own gloved hands self-consciously - and sets them next to the trowel on the table. <em>Bad move</em>, she thinks, as the plant between them makes to swipe the gloves, its fangs bared.</p><p>“Oh, geez,” Steve exclaims, yanking them away from the flower’s snapping jaws just in time.</p><p>“Be careful,” she says, somewhat superfluously now that the gloves are nowhere near the Savage Poppybush.</p><p>“It’s funny, right?” Steve asks, putting them on. “They’re new, but they were also made to take a beating from all the plants we’re supposed to encounter this year, so I don’t know why…” he trails off, and then looks at hers, “…but yours look like they’ve seen better days.”</p><p>She shrugs. The green scales on her dragon hide gloves are worn down, the seams around her wrist starting to tear a little. The fur lining on the inside is the only sign that it had once been a thing of finery before it got relegated to gardening wear. They’d once been her mother’s, many years ago, back when she’d attended Ilvermorny. Ilvermorny, where Aliana met Ivan. Before she became a Romanoff. Before she had Natasha.</p><p>A voice that sounds suspiciously like her father’s pipes up in the back of her head; <em>focus, Natalia. </em>So she turns her attention back to the Savage Poppybush.</p><p>She doesn’t flinch when it tears through her coverall sleeve as she takes a pair of shears to its branches; doesn’t crack a smile when Professor Logan makes a bad joke; doesn’t really engage Rogers’ questions about how she’s wrestling the plant. (Rogers, thankfully, gets the hint, and stops the unnecessary small talk.)</p><p>“You should get that looked at,” he says softly at the end of the class, ever the gentleman.</p><p>She glances at the gash in her arm and offers him a cordial smile. “I will. Thanks.” A lie. She has no intention of setting foot in the infirmary wing, even for a cut like this. She keeps a stash of Essence of Dittany in her room for things like this.</p><p>As the sixth-years exit the greenhouse, the weakening sun filters through the clouds and hits the lake just right. It’s a beautiful day, and soon it’ll be too cold to just sit by the lake and <em>exist</em>.</p><p>“You guys go ahead,” Natasha finds herself murmurs perfunctorily. “I think I’m going to the lake.”</p><p>“Okay,” Pepper nods knowingly. “Bundle up, okay?”</p><p>“I’ll come with you,” Clint volunteers. While Pepper and Maria know that she’ll come to them when she’s ready to talk, Clint doesn’t let her get caught up in her own head when she starts spiralling. Maybe that’s why she trusts him.</p><p>They walk in silence towards the lake, leaves crunching beneath their feet as they amble over the grassy knoll towards the water. As they reach the lake’s edge, she whips up little woodland animals - hares, tortoises, deer - out of lake water.</p><p>“So.” Clint nods seriously.</p><p>“So,” Natasha echoes. The sun is setting, but the air is still warm enough for them to sit on their usual stone bench beneath the willows, among the red and gold leaves. She folds her legs beneath her cloak, and Clint takes the spot next to her.</p><p>“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Natasha looks out towards the lake, lets the wind whip her hair into a frenzy. And it’s true; it’s too beautiful a day to ruin with her thoughts about a pair of old gloves. So she tries for casual. “You know Tony is still trying to get Pepper back?”</p><p>Clint snorts. “Doesn’t surprise me.” He leans against the bench, sitting shoulder to shoulder with her, surveying her carefully, deliberating whether or not to wait for her to speak. That’s what she appreciates about Clint: He’s not a Legilimens like she is, but she can’t deny that he’s got a knack for understanding her. Eventually, he sighs. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>Natasha thinks about it. “Yeah. But not right now.”</p><p>He nods his understanding. “Okay.” So they sit in silence, surrounded by gambolling lake water animals, watching the sun slowly sink beneath the horizon.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Fury is more imposing in a packed classroom than he needs to be, but he is clearly in his element. In other words, you can really tell that he can’t wait for Natasha to graduate from Ilvermorny so he can go back to being a practising Auror instead of a glorified babysitter for a bunch of teenagers, some of whom are pre-pubescent.</p><p>“The first thing on the NEWT syllabus is non-verbal spells. So today-”</p><p>Jane Foster’s hand shoots up into the air. “Sir, but what about the Dark Energy?”</p><p>Fury barely conceals his harrumph of irritation. “I heard that Professor Carter insists that all of you learn how to defend yourselves from Dark Energy.” He turns, his cloak swishing behind him. “It’s dumb. I can’t teach you how to defend yourselves from something we know nothing about. What I can teach you is non-verbal spells. These are an essential part of your NEWT syllabus, and I would be remiss if any of you fail to perform a satisfactory non-verbal spell by the time I’m done with you. Especially those who want to be Aurors.” His single eye scans the room, lingering on particular students in the crowd.</p><p>Maria nudges her. “He’s watching us.”</p><p>“And half of the cohort,” Natasha murmurs back. </p><p>“Ms Hill, Mr Sitwell. If I might borrow you for a short demonstration.”</p><p>On her other side, Clint snickers. “This is going to be good.”</p><p>Maria has won the Defence Against the Dark Arts Book Prize every year. This is common knowledge. And yet, Natasha does not feel sorry for Sitwell, who eyes Maria warily as his chair screeches against the hardwood floor, following her up to the front of the classroom.</p><p>“Ms Hill will attempt to jinx Mr Sitwell with a non-verbal spell. Mr Sitwell will attempt to repel Ms Hill’s jinx non-verbally. What,” he asks with a dramatic flourish, “is the advantage of a non-verbal spell?”</p><p>Helen Cho’s hand goes into the air, along with Pepper’s and Jane Foster’s. Ergo, the usual suspects.</p><p>“Ms Potts.”</p><p>“You have an advantage over your opponent because they don’t know what you’re going to do. Take five points.”</p><p>That was correct in theory, but unlikely in practice, Natasha mused. If she’d learnt anything from MACUSA this summer, it was that you had to learn more than just non-verbal spells to keep shit from happening to you.</p><p>“Unpredictability is, indeed, key in wand duels,” Fury said. “But I’ve taken this advantage away. What have I done?”</p><p>She knew the answer, but she wasn’t going to draw unnecessary attention to herself. Natasha felt Fury’s eyes sweep in her direction but she kept her eyes trained on the sheaf of parchment on her desk, assiduously avoiding eye contact with Fury.</p><p>Helen Cho’s voice said, “Sir, you’ve told us who is playing attack and who is playing defence. This is not a real duel. There is no element of surprise.”</p><p>“Exactly. Take five points. Ms Hill. Mr Sitwell. If you would not mind.”</p><p>Maria whipped her wand in a circular motion, and Sitwell flicked his in response.</p><p>The class watched as nothing happened. Either Sitwell had been practising his wandwork over the holidays, or Maria wasn’t having much success with non-verbal spells. Clint nudged Natasha, with an offering to play Hangman on a piece of scrap parchment.</p><p>Finally, after two minutes and half a word - a_r_ m a _ t _ _ a - later, Natasha heard Sitwell’s wand clatter to the ground. Maria looked vaguely annoyed at how long it had taken.</p><p>“If that’s how long it takes Hill to make the first move on anyone, you’ll never get together,” she hears Bucky mutter behind her.</p><p>“Are you being serious right now?” She hears someone else hiss.</p><p>“Shut it, Buck.” A third voice. Rogers, she thinks. His voice is distinctive enough for her to place.</p><p>Bucky continues as though Rogers hasn’t just admonished him. “Looks like you need to make the first move, Sam.”</p><p>“Now,” Fury said, cutting off her eavesdropping conveniently. “I’d like you to get into pairs and practice on each other. There will be no designated roles here.” He flicks his wand, and the tables they’re sitting at get shunted to the side of the classroom, leaving a big open space in the middle of the classroom.</p><p>Clint grins. “This should be fun. Come on, Tash.”</p><p>Fury glances at her, shoots her a warning look. She reads the look on his face. <em>You’re not supposed to demonstrate anything you learnt with the Auror office. </em></p><p>So the first thing she does is put up a Shield Charm on herself to repel almost any spell directed at her, and then she spends the next ten minutes pretending that she doesn’t know how to do a non-verbal spell. She doesn’t doubt that Clint will get there eventually, but if she’s not allowed to jinx anyone, no one’s going to jinx her, too. The classroom is mostly quiet, while people mutter under their breaths.</p><p>“Non-verbal spells, people,” Fury reminds them. “I will Lip-Glue whoever I catch muttering under their breath next.”</p><p>She glances over at the front of the classroom to find that Maria is no longer trying to jinx Sitwell - instead, Sitwell’s with his buddy John Garrett, and Maria’s been partnered with Sam Wilson, that warm-mannered Pukwudgie boy with the crew cut and gap-tooth.</p><p>Maria disarms him in under a minute. Wilson can only stare at Maria in awe. “Wow.”</p><p>She and Clint exchange a look of bemusement in between "trying to hex" each other. From the soppy look on Wilson’s face, he’s probably halfway in love with her. Actually, come to think of it, that’s probably what Bucky was alluding to earlier in their eavesdropped conversation.</p><p>So she’s not surprised when Clint corners Bucky after class to make a bet. He’s with Rogers and Wilson, but whips right around when Clint calls his name.</p><p>“Barnes! A Sickle if Wilson asks Hill out by the Yule Ball. Bet?”</p><p>“I’m right here, ” Sam Wilson sputters indignantly.</p><p>“Meet you in the Main Hall,” Rogers says to Bucky, steering Sam away from them.</p><p>Bucky pays his friends no mind. He grins, pocketing the silver coin. “Of course.”</p><p>They shake on it, and then Tony Stark, in all his candour and eccentricity descends on them like a Bowtruckle on Doxy eggs.</p><p>“Oh, a wager? I love wagers. What are we betting on?”</p><p>Bucky grins unashamedly. “Wilson’s love life.”</p><p>Tony smiles gleefully, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, <em>that</em>. He’s been dancing circles around Hill. Always too tongue-tied to talk to her. Barnes and I have been betting on this for <em>years</em>.”</p><p>“What?” Clint sounds offended, but Natasha figures that’s just because he’s been left out of the pool.</p><p>“Just because you don’t notice this moron’s friends try to string two words to say hello to the girls they like…” Bucky coughs and averts his gaze, while Tony fixes Natasha with a <em>look</em> before holding out a Sickle to Bucky. “I’m amending my bet again. New Year’s.”</p><p>Bucky then turns to her gleefully in the hopes of collecting another silver coin.</p><p>“How about you, Romanoff? Feeling lucky?”</p><p>“I’ll pass.” She checks her pocket-watch, and then looks at Tony pointedly. “Don’t <em>you</em> have to run for class?”</p><p>Clint looks confused - understandably so - because Tony has made it a point to highlight that Divination is the most imprecise branch of magic he’d ever had the misfortune of encountering every time they set foot in the Ancient One’s classroom. “I thought you didn’t believe in that Divination mumbo-jumbo.”</p><p>“It’s an easy A,” Tony shrugs. “All I have to do is make stuff up that has a remote possibility of coming true. It’s imprecise.”</p><p>“Pepper’s in that class,” Natasha clarifies. Clint makes a noise of understanding.</p><p>“Indeed,” Tony sing-songs, and then he turns around and bursts into a song about Cauldron Cakes as he waltzes down the hallway.</p><p>Bucky salutes them both before running after his friends. “See ya.”</p><p>She lets her amusement show as she meets Steve’s eyes on the other end of the hallway when he turns around as Bucky catches up to them. He flushes when she glances over, and in his head she snatches a glimpse of their conversation during Transfiguration. If it’s taken Tony less than a week to write a song about Cauldron Cakes, she’s sure whatever he’s got cooked up about Pepper Imps (or God forbid, Pepper Potts) is much worse.</p><p>A grin splits her face suddenly and she turns to Clint, thinking about poor Pepper and whatever serenade Tony’s got planned for her. “Make you another bet.”</p><p>He drops an arm around her as they make their way to the Dining Hall. “All ears.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>On the second Saturday night of the school term, Natasha finds herself staring at the notice board in the Wampus common room. Particularly, just the one notice up on the board in neat, slanting handwriting.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>QUIDDITCH TRY-OUT SIGN UPS, SECOND SUNDAY OF TERM</em>
</p><p>
  <em>* last year’s team <span class="u">must</span> try-out - spots not guaranteed for last year’s team.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>There were already twenty-five names on the list, five of whom had been on the team last year. They’re definite shoo-ins. </p><p>“T’Challa’s going about running the team differently this year,” Clint says mildly.</p><p>“Outcome’s the same.” Even with the gauntlet of meritocracy hanging over their heads, Natasha expects that only the empty spots will be filled and the old team will return to play, if only because those who’ve been playing Quidditch consistently through the years are just better.</p><p>Clint has the decency to pretend like he’s thinking about what she’s just said, because she knows he agrees. “Carol’ll be hard to replace.”</p><p>“I’d be hard to replace too, if I was scouted to play Seeker for Team USA.”</p><p>“Your name’s not on that try-outs list,” Clint observes. “You sitting this season out?”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>Clint makes an offended noise and pulls out a quill from his bag. She grabs his arm before he can start writing in the Chaser’s column. Instead, she plucks the quill from his hands and scrawls her name in the Beater’s column, directly under <em>Bucky Barnes </em>and a few names down from <em>Clint Barton</em>. If she’s being totally honest, she’s hesitating about putting her name down for Chaser because…</p><p>“I can’t end up in the infirmary this year,” she explains quietly, not looking at him. A beat in the conversation, and she can practically hear Clint’s brain whirring, looking for puzzle pieces to fit together. She shakes her head lightly. There is a time to tell her friends, but it’s not now. “I’ll tell you another time. Promise.”</p><p>His demeanour relaxes - she knows he'll hold her to it - and then he gestures to the sign-up sheet on the notice board.</p><p>“Well, there’s not enough space for all three of us to be Beaters,” Clint points out. “One of us will end up playing reserve.”</p><p>“How’d you know that none of the others are any good?”</p><p>Clint thinks about this for a minute. He holds his hand out for his quill, which she relinquishes.</p><p>“I like my chances,” he said. “But in case I’m the reserve…”</p><p>Just as he signs his name with a flourish in the Chaser column, T’Challa comes down from the male dormitories to take down the sign-up list.</p><p>“Ink’s not dry,” Clint warns. “Better not fold it up yet.”</p><p>T’Challa looks at the list in his hands, and then eyes them with surprise.</p><p>“I like to be unpredictable,” Natasha smiles enigmatically.</p><p>“If you can hit Bludgers like you dodge them, you have the job.” He glances at Clint, laughter in his eyes. “It is a good thing you put your name down for Chaser, rafiki.”</p><p>Natasha laughs all the way up the stairs to her room. </p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“Try-outs are this morning,” Bobbi says, eyeing Clint’s outfit skeptically as he plops himself down and begins shovelling food into his mouth. “I see you’re not wearing your Beater gear, Barton.”</p><p>“Change of plans.” When Bobbi looks confused, he elaborates, swallowing between his words. “Tash and I are trading places this year.”</p><p>Bobbi points her butter knife at him, grinning crookedly. “Bold of you to assume that T’Challa will pick you to start as a Chaser.”</p><p>“Bold of you to assume I’m not any good,” Clint says, helping himself to another slice of toast and a forkful of eggs off Natasha’s plate. Bobbi has no reply to that, because of course they know Clint is good at dodging Bludgers, has good aim, and is very zippy on a broom to boot.</p><p>“You’re going to make us late for try-outs if you don’t finish those eggs now,” Natasha says, gesturing at her watch.</p><p>“Wight,” Clint replies through a mouthful of food. “Wemme fi-ish.”</p><p>Bobbi laughs at this. “I’ll head down first? See you guys in a bit.”</p><p>Natasha nods and waves her off.</p><p>The try-outs go much more smoothly than expected. T’Challa starts by making an off-hand comment that his little sister, Shuri, has just been made Thunderbird Seeker yesterday afternoon, so he’ll need someone who’s agile and ballsy on a broom. Based on the glimpses of memories in T’Challa’s head - he’s learning Occlumency, she can tell - Natasha can vouch for T’Challa’s assessment. At this point, half the candidates who’ve signed up for Seeker chicken out, so they’re left with a scrawny-looking fourth year with silver hair, a fifth year who looks too big to be fast on a broom, a second year who looks like he might pee himself when he get round to battling Shuri for the Golden Snitch, and a third year who looks like she takes no shit.</p><p>It turns out that the fourth year - Maximoff - is deceptively scrawny and extremely speedy on a broomstick. T’Challa doesn’t announce it, but he also clearly likes the third year - who turns out to be Bruce Banner’s cousin - as a close second.</p><p>T’Challa tries the Beaters next, having them aim five Bludgers at the two Seeker candidates who are told to zoom around the pitch when the whistle goes.</p><p>Even though Clint told Bobbi this morning that he and Natasha are trading places, he is still the first on the list of potential Beaters, and decides to fly without his protective gear. It seems to have increased his mobility; Walters is practically spitting fire after Clint lands, having nearly been knocked off her broom thrice. There are several less competent candidates after Clint, and then Bucky sends Maximoff’s broom into a tailspin on his second hit, forces a swerve on his third, and clips Walters on all his other hits.</p><p>Natasha’s trial is nowhere as good as Clint’s, but she does clip Maximoff twice with the Bludger (he really <em>is</em> good at dodging), knocks Walters on the head with another, forces Maximoff to swerve into a hoop on the fourth, and nearly knocks Walters off her broom once.</p><p>“You sure you’re not planning to play Chaser this year?” T’Challa asks her only once, but he holds her eyes for a little too long. It makes her think she needs to work on her Occlumency. She nods, resolute.</p><p>While they start gathering the Chaser hopefuls, several members from the Thunderbird team, Maria and Shuri among them, have just arrived to watch. When the whistle goes and Natasha’s not among the Chaser hopefuls, she sees Maria cross her arms, and she’s almost certain that she can just about make out Maria’s frown from across the pitch. At the end of it all, all of last year’s team is returned - the only difference is that Natasha and Clint switch positions. Walters is offered a position as reserve while Maximoff is Carol’s replacement.</p><p>Maria finds them at lunch, while Natasha is still wearing Clint’s Beater gear. She cuts straight to the chase. “Why are you playing Beater this year?”</p><p>“Why, hello, how are you doing, Clint,” Clint drawls sarcastically. “Nice to see you too, Maria.”</p><p>The newest players looked slightly alarmed when Bobbi laughs and commands them to budge up for the Thunderbird Quidditch Captain.</p><p>“Yeah, hi.” Maria waves her hand dismissively at Clint and pins Natasha with a look as she slides onto the bench between Bobbi and Clint.  “Seriously. Beater?”</p><p>Natasha looks down at Clint’s beater gear meaningfully, and then bites into a club sandwich.</p><p>Maria takes this as a satisfactory response. “You know, I had a bunch of plays for Thunderbird to run against you guys,” she sighs mournfully.</p><p>Behind Maria, T’Challa tips his imaginary hat at Natasha as he leaves the table. It’s definitely an added perk, blindsiding the other teams who have probably been planning plays since the end of last season.</p><p>“Yeah, that was totally the plan.” Natasha does one of her fake laughs. She knows it’s a good fake laugh because Fury’s complimented her on it before, and when no one questions her, she knows he’s right.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She is six again, and the fire pulsates around her, in her veins. Around her, the rest of the Romanoffs are stoking the flames of the Fiendfyre, too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Uncle Igor had seen the Aurors coming from the perimeters, so Grandfather had given the command to lay waste to the Romanoff estate - a sprawling redbrick compound everyone nicknamed the Red Room - and the forest around it. They won’t find anything to incriminate us here if it all burns, he’d reasoned. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>There are five, six silhouettes beyond the gates - no, seven, she corrects herself - and they are vastly outnumbered by the Fiendfyre the Romanoffs now control. The sky outside in the No-Maj world turns orange with fire and grey with smoke. It’s a glorious, glorious colour. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Fucking bastards,” someone curses outside as they near the estate. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“This is them, isn’t it?” Natasha asks her father. Her arms unfurl in the heat of the raging firestorm. Ivan smiles at his only daughter, proud of her mastery over the Fiendfyre animals. The gods gave them the power to control Fiendfyre because it so resembled their fiery hair, he was fond of reminding her, and their little Natalia was the most gifted of them all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes, malyutka. Take care of it, will you?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She smiles. “Yes, father.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She reaches a hand out of the window, towards the oncoming wave of Aurors, and strikes-</em>
</p><p>- suddenly, she can’t breathe. Natasha awakes abruptly. It takes her moments to collect herself, to remember that she is not in the Red Room helping it burn; to remember that she is sixteen, not six; and she is in her bed at Ilvermorny, with half a tree trunk laying atop her covered in Flerken vomit and currently crushing her with its weight.</p><p>That was definitely not there when she went to bed earlier.</p><p>Rubbing her eyes blearily, she fumbles for her wand on her side table. God knows where that Flerken got it from. “Goose,” she growls.</p><p>The cat meows cheekily in response.</p><p>“<em>Evanesco.</em>” The branch disappears, but the bed still stinks of Flerken vomit. “<em>Tergeo.</em>” Most of it disappears, but even with the full moon hanging brightly outside she still wonders if the sheets are salvageable, and decides she’ll ask the house-elves to please, please, have a look in the morning.</p><p>“Haven’t I told you that it’s not nice to vomit on people’s beds?”</p><p>The Flerken prances on her legs and curls up at her feet.</p><p>“I’m not sleeping in that bed tonight, you dumb cat.”</p><p>At this, Goose glances meaningfully at the Dark Detectors on the table. In her annoyance with her cat, she’d not noticed that on her plywood model castle, the north-west quadrant of the Misted Forest was glowing with activity. She looks back at Goose, who looks a little too pleased with herself.</p><p>“Fine, you win.”</p><p>“<em>Mrow</em>.”</p><p>She changes out of her pyjamas. <em>Cloak or Disillusionment charm?</em> She thinks about the full moon tonight, and decides to pull on her Demiguise cloak. “If I’m not back by sunrise, go find Fury.”</p><p>Goose yawns in acknowledgment and curls up on her bed in response.</p><p>“That damn cat,” she mutters, leaving the warmth of her room behind.</p><p>The common room is quiet, but that’s not surprising - it’s only the first week of term. The entrance won’t open into the rest of the castle at night, presumably to prevent students sneaking around the castle after hours. It might have been genius in the medieval times when the school was founded, but it’s bullshit, of course. It took Natasha three days as a first year to figure out that the common room balcony is a giant (and convenient) security loophole. She prods at the balcony with her wand, seeing if there’ve been any new wards and charms put in place since the additional protection on the castle, but finds none. So she mounts her broom, kicks off and begins navigating towards the north-west quadrant of the Misted Forest.</p><p>Between threatening to blow off the broom completely and impeding the movement of her broom’s gears, the Demiguise cloak is a terrible flying companion, Natasha realises. The moon might be terribly bright tonight, but it’s not like anyone else is skulking around the castle grounds to notice a lone Cleansweep Seventeen in the fog surrounding the Misted Forest. She decides to Disillusion herself the next time she sneaks out.</p><p>When she reaches the North-west quadrant of the forest, she hovers just below the tree line, camouflaging herself in a cluster of Douglas firs, and waits.</p><p>She waits for twigs snapping, leaves crunching, anything - any discernible sound for her to investigate. She’s not sure how long she sits there, waiting for some sound. She really make that diorama more portable. Perhaps a parchment map of sorts. She makes a note to raise this with Fury when she gets the chance.</p><p>And then she hears it. The slow crackling sound of a falling tree branch. She waits a little longer, wondering if it might be owls hunting, or mooncalves dancing under the full moon, or more sinister magic going on.</p><p>Past nocturnal rambles with Maria and Clint have made Natasha fairly confident that there is nothing remotely threatening in the Misted Forest. In five years of expeditions, they’ve never encountered anything more dangerous than a jarvey. Just as she’s thinking this, an ominous howl sounds from the forest behind her. <em>Or not.</em> Natasha turns her broom to see where the howl might be coming from.</p><p>Another crackling from where she’d heard the initial disturbance, this one slightly more vicious than the last. There’s definitely something in there that’s not a mooncalf.</p><p>“Oy, be careful with that!”</p><p>“I heard something,” a second voice protests.</p><p>Another howl, this time accompanied by movement in the trees to the south.</p><p>“Is that a werewolf?”</p><p>“Fuck,” the first voice says gruffly. “Let’s get.”</p><p>Her sentiments exactly. She can’t remember how high werewolves can jump, but she does remember that werewolves have a preference for human prey.</p><p>She also knows for a fact whoever’s in the forest will pass her on the way back to the castle, and she can’t risk being seen, even if she has a Demiguise cloak on. She pulls the broom into a slow ascent and flies back toward the Wampus tower balcony under the cover of the fog.</p><p>Natasha quickly realises that there’s a problem when she tries to approach the Wampus tower balcony - there is a protective barrier around it, keeping her from landing. <em>Damn it. </em>She’d been so careful to check whether there had been anything keeping her from leaving, but she hadn’t checked to see if there had been anything from letting her back in.</p><p>Circling the highest towers looking for a point of entry that would offer her ease of access back to the Wampus tower, she finds a small window on the seventh floor in the Astronomy corridor. It’s not ideal, but it’ll have to do.</p><p><em>Alohomora.</em> The balcony door clicks open. She climbs in and shuts it behind her. The click echoes ominously in the corridor. She stills under the cloak.</p><p>“Did you hear that?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh shit, that’s right - Prefects on patrol duty.</em>
</p><p>“No?” That’s Pepper’s voice, but she sounds uncertain.</p><p>“I’ll check it out.”</p><p>“Steve, I don’t think you should…”</p><p>“Stay behind me,” he says. <em>Idiot</em>, Natasha thinks. <em>Noble, for sure, but an idiot nonetheless</em>. Even if he’d been as gifted as Maria at Defence Against the Dark Arts, there’s no way he’d be able to protect Pepper from anyone who really wanted to harm Ilvermorny students.</p><p>She hears footsteps coming her way. Of all the goddamn places for them to be right now… She shrinks into her Demiguise cloak, pressing herself against the cold stone walls. Her cloak won’t cover her <em>and</em> the broom, so she makes a split second decision to leave the broom, and cover herself.</p><p>Steve Rogers rounds the corner, staring curiously into the space where she currently stands, and she wills herself not to move. His eyes move to the corner where her broomstick sits innocuously, and he blinks. “Pepper, there’s a broom here.”</p><p>Lighter footsteps as Pepper rounds the corner.</p><p>He makes a move to pick it up, and she has to fight the urge to just hex him on the spot and take the broomstick back before hoofing it back to the dormitories. Except she can’t. <em>God bloody dammit. </em></p><p>Pepper’s never seen her Cleansweep Seventeen - she’d just got it this summer, but she’s sure Pepper recognises the embossed cursive <em>H.P.</em> on the hilt of the broomstick. Practically everything Natasha owns is monogrammed in the same way. Her lips purse. There’s a reason she’d never invited Pepper on any of her night time jaunts around Ilvermorny, but to Pepper’s credit, she doesn’t whip her head around like Natasha is skulking around anywhere in this corridor.</p><p>“I’ll take this,” Pepper suggests.</p><p>“You don’t think anyone’s in trouble around here? They could be getting themselves into danger.”</p><p>Pepper frowns, but disagrees with him. “I think it might just be a misplaced broomstick.”</p><p>“It’s right by the window, though.”</p><p>Natasha barely holds back an eye roll. God, he’s worse than Pepper is about the rules - but she’ll take what she can get. While they’re distracted by her broom, she quietly, quickly navigates back to her room - God bless medieval logic concerning ingress and egress - and throws her cloak on the floor. Goose greets her with a loud meow, as though to ask her where she’d left her broom.</p><p>“I left my broom outside,” she explains, climbing into her bed, which smells less like Flerken vomit than she remembered. “Prefects were on duty.”</p><p>Goose lets out a noise that can only be described as a sound of contempt, and then slinks out of the room like she can’t be bothered to put up with Natasha, who flops back into her bed and lets out a sigh. Her broom is really the least of her concerns now, really, because there’s a werewolf on the loose in the castle. </p><p>The next morning, Natasha goes to Fury’s office immediately after breakfast to report what she’s heard and what she knows. He doesn’t flinch when she mentions the werewolf in the Misted Forest. <em>He already knows,</em> she realises. It must be someone in Ilvermorny, then.</p><p>“You gonna do something about the Anti-Ingress Charm on that balcony?”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“I don’t want to lose another broom.”</p><p>“So become better at sneaking in.” Fury is unmoved.</p><p>Natasha glowers unappreciatively. “Seriously.”</p><p>“Seriously.” When she doesn’t move, he picks up the third year DADA textbook and waves her off.  “I have a class to teach, and you have a class to be at.”</p><p>Natasha is in a foul mood by the time she slinks into Transfiguration. Professor May has them practicing conjuration spells of inanimate objects. This is a skill Natasha’s spent the summer perfecting courtesy of Jack Thompson, the asshat on the Auror team Fury’d been assigned to. (Apparently he was too good to conjure up his own vials for potions and mugs for his own coffee. She had taken great pleasure in hexing the cups so they would spill hot liquids onto his clothes.)</p><p>Also, after the night she had, she mostly wants to sleep. Unfortunately, Steve Rogers insists on making small talk while they’re practicing their Conjuration spells.</p><p>“I heard you’re the new Wampus Beater,” he says.</p><p>“You heard right,” Natasha replies, keeping her voice deceptively even. She’s just a smidge annoyed about her broom. It’s not his fault, though. He was just doing his prefectorial duties.</p><p>“Well, congratulations,” he smiles.</p><p>“Thanks,” she nods.</p><p>Behind her, Wilson makes a coughing noise. Natasha resists the urge to roll her eyes, knowing that if Clint was in this class, he’d be starting another betting pool with Bucky Barnes. Rogers, to his credit, is either used to shit from his best friend or gives him the benefit of the doubt.</p><p>“<em>Acreo</em>.” The beginning of a small cage emanate from the tip of his wand. The Conjuration is incomplete, and the metal door he’s Conjured clatters on the table. “So why’d you switch?”</p><p>She bites back a retort about focusing on Transfiguration. <em>Be nice.</em> Her snippiness isn’t fair to Rogers, who already got a dose of her unnecessary snippiness during Herbology. So she tries her best to make conversation. She shrugs.“Statistically, the Beaters are least likely to end up in the hospital after a match.” It's true, but it's not the reason why she switched.</p><p>“So who ends up in hospital the most?”</p><p>“Chasers. I’m not sure how statistically relevant that fact is if you consider the fact that almost half the team are Chasers.” At this point in the conversation, Natasha expects a pithy comment about statistical analysis from Tony Stark, but he is, thankfully, silent.</p><p>“Chasers,” Steve repeats dully. “Great.”</p><p>She can’t help but laugh at the resignation in his voice. “You’re planning to try out for Pukwudgie Chaser this year?”</p><p>“Yeah, Sharon’s got the trials scheduled for this Friday, but I don’t know…”</p><p>“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she says, in her best reassuring voice.</p><p>Wilson coughs again. Natasha turns around, fully intending to offer Wilson a cough drop when she notices that Stark looks like he’s about to drop dead - he’s got his sunglasses on and is slumped over his desk - so instead, she ends up frowning at Stark.</p><p>“What happened to you?” This would certainly account for the fact that he’s not talking about statistics at the moment.</p><p>“Rough night,” Stark says, his voice raspy. He doesn’t take off his glasses or offer a further explanation, which is unusual - at least, for him. “Congratulations, by the way. Maria told me.”</p><p>“Mmhmm,” she says noncommittally. She recognises a diversionary tactic when she hears one. Professor May claps her hands as she walks by.</p><p>“This is not a gossip session, Mr Stark. Ms Romanoff.”</p><p>Natasha ducks her head demurely in response. She’s sure May knows she’s capable of doing what’s been asked; Fury and May go out for drinks in Greylock Village every other weekend together with the Head of the MACUSA Auror Department, Coulson.</p><p>“<em>Acreo</em>.” Wilson’s attempt is worse than Rogers’, but Stark’s attempt goes better than Wilson’s. A bottomless bird cage appears as he recites the incantation. While the boys are engrossed with their attempts, Natasha makes a swirling motion with her wand, conjuring a bamboo bird cage in front of her. May leaves their tables to make a turn about the classroom, satisfied with their attempts.</p><p>The rest of Transfiguration goes quietly, and Natasha amuses herself by Vanishing parts of the bamboo bird cage. Any attempts at conversation among the boys are killed stone cold dead by May, who has taken to hovering by their tables.</p><p>The second the bell signals the end of the class, Pepper grabs her arm after Transfiguration and pulls her along the corridor to the Dining Hall. “Why was your broom in the seventh floor corridor last night?”</p><p>Natasha stifles a yawn. “Felt like a late night flight.”</p><p>Pepper pins her with a look that clearly calls bullshit, but Natasha doesn’t elaborate. “Did that happen with Tony, by any chance? He looks like hell.”</p><p>They stop in the middle of the hallway, while Natasha tries to think of a coherent response. Pepper’s arms cross over her chest, and suddenly Natasha is seized with inspiration. A grin blooms across her face. “Why, are you jealous?”</p><p>Pepper begins walking away from her. “No.” Oh my god; she <em>is</em>.</p><p>“You <em>are</em>,” Natasha marvels, trailing half a step behind Pepper. She was just trying to employ a diversionary tactic, but <em>holy smokes, </em>if Tony’s really got a song written for Pepper, it might actually win her back. Now Natasha’s brain is running in another direction: What if Pepper was right, and it was Tony in the woods last night? She’s a little curious now, actually. But as she runs to catch up with Pepper, she can’t resist ribbing her just a little. “So you’re not over him?”</p><p>“Who’s over who now?” Maria asks, catching up to them as they reach the Dining Hall.</p><p>“Clint,” Natasha lies, not missing a beat. “He’s still mooning over Bobbi.”</p><p>Pepper’s shoulders droop in relief as she says this. “I’ll be by to pick up my broom later,” Natasha says quietly to Pepper, her eyes gleaming with mirth. Maria doesn’t catch this, but Bobbi glides past them and Natasha wonders if she’d spoken a little too loudly.</p><p>“Oh, don’t talk to me about that traitor,” Maria glowers as they slide into an empty spot at the furthest table from the door.</p><p>Pepper looks puzzled. “What has Clint done to you?”</p><p>“He started a pool on my love life, that’s what.”</p><p>Natasha doesn’t point out that the pool probably existed long before Clint got in on it, but Pepper appears mildly amused to hear about this. Natasha busies herself with the salad so Maria can’t see her snigger.</p><p>Pepper pokes at her ziti. “You have a love life?”</p><p>Maria’s nostrils flare almost comically and her eyes narrow. “You’re in on the pool.”</p><p>Natasha raises an eyebrow, surprised, but Pepper doesn’t bother denying it. Maria’s eyes turn into slits. “How much are you in for?”</p><p>“If I told you, you’d screw us all over on purpose,” Pepper says mildly, her long strawberry blonde ponytail swishing as she looks up at Maria.</p><p>“Damn right I will. Who’s the bookie?”</p><p>“Barnes.”</p><p>“And you’re not in the pool,” Maria turns to Natasha for confirmation.</p><p>“Nope.” There is a pause where the only thing Natasha hears is the clink of utensils against their plates. She knows how Maria thinks, and sighs inwardly. The last thing she wants to do is get involved with Bucky’s betting pools.</p><p>“You could just let me win,” Pepper tilts her head. “I’d split the pot with you.”</p><p>Maria appears to think it over. “When did you bet for?”</p><p>“That you’ll get together after Swivenhodge season.”</p><p>Maria shoots the idea down quickly. “Swivenhodge season starts in February.”</p><p>“You’d date during Swivenhodge?”</p><p>Pepper’s logic makes sense: why would star athlete Maria, get attached during Quidditch season and before Swivenhodge season starts?</p><p>“Well, between now and March is a lot of wiggle room.”</p><p>She understands what Maria is worried about, too: what if Wilson makes his move before that? She’d lose the bet right off if she wasn’t going to rig it. So she offers her friends an alternative.</p><p>“Clint has money on Wilson asking you to the Yule Ball,” Natasha supplies helpfully.</p><p>“Perfect.” A wicked grin appears on Maria’s face, and Pepper frowns.</p><p>“But you just said-”</p><p>“<em>She’s</em> going to ask Wilson to the Yule Ball herself.”</p><p>Maria grins and turns to Pepper. She gestures at Natasha. “Take notes, Potts. This is what friendship looks like.”</p><p>Before Maria can even ask, Natasha holds up a finger. “No.”</p><p>Pepper presses her lips together in amusement, but says nothing.</p><p>“I saw Stark amend his bet with a Sickle,” Natasha suggests. “Perhaps Pepper can be persuaded to amend hers?”</p><p>“Not everyone has so many Sickles to rub together,” Pepper mumbles, pulling out her purse and counts her money rapidly. “I’m two Knuts short of a Sickle.”</p><p>“I’ll front you,” Natasha says, pulling out her wallet.</p><p>“Take notes, Hill,” Pepper throws Maria’s words back at her. “<em>This</em> is what friendship looks like.”</p><p>“I want a return on my investment.”</p><p>“Of course,” Pepper holds her hand out for the coins.</p><p>Natasha quirks a smile. “Pleasure doing business with you.” Maria nods her approval.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>phew!!! this was a huge baby to birth... thank you for the kind support so far!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. BEST QUALITY FOR 250 YEARS!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>in which Steve makes the Quidditch team, Bruce gets slapped by his ex, and Clint pays five Sickles for a sandwich.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>huzzah my muse cooperated and now i have another update before the year is out!</p><p>hope everyone is having a good festive season - sending lots of love and good vibes to whoever needs/wants them (:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Defence Against the Dark Arts on Friday is more non-verbal spellwork, and if Natasha is being terribly honest, she needs more of a challenge. The only reason she’s taking this class - really, it is the <em>only </em>reason; that detestable MACUSA Vice-President Pierce knows well and good that she’s been a master of the Dark Arts since before she’d been fostered by Fury - is because it’s a prerequisite to get into the Auror Training Program and it’s impossible to get an exemption. When the bell rings for lunch, Fury nods at Natasha. She takes this as her cue to stay back.</p><p>“You guys go ahead,” Natasha tells her friends quietly. “I gotta talk to Fury.”</p><p>“Actually,” Fury says. “Miss Hill, can you wait for me outside the classroom? I want to discuss your extra credit assignment with you once I’m done discussing Miss Romanoff’s with her.”</p><p>Once the classroom is clear, Fury crosses his arm and fixes her with his one good eye while he leans against the blackboard.</p><p>“MACUSA detected faint anomalies.”</p><p>That’s odd, Natasha thinks. Goose didn’t wake her up this week. Fury holds his finger up. “Not on castle grounds.”</p><p>That explains it. “Where?”</p><p>“A few different locations,” Fury pries himself off the blackboard and hands her a list of coordinates on a sheet of parchment. “A few” is an understatement. She taps the parchment with her wand and the words <em>TOP SECRET </em>stain the parchment crimson as it transforms into a map. Natasha’s not sure if Fury is playing by the MACUSA rulebook by handing her this document, but she trusts him enough to know when to keep her mouth shut. She looks over the map pins. There are at least ten places on that list across the continental United States, the nearest of which is in Greylock Village. The furthest away is in the San Joaquin Valley.</p><p>“We don’t have a definitive read on the energy signatures, but if I had to guess…” She waits, and hates the rest of his sentence. “…I’d say they’re similar to Inferi.”</p><p>Her eyebrows go up. “You want me to <em>sneak off </em>school grounds to fight Inferi?”</p><p>“Of course not,” Fury sounds insulted. “I’m giving you permission to leave. I’ll even provide you the Portkeys and the Auror equipment you need.”</p><p>“So basically, I’m an Auror without a license.” She taps on the map and it becomes a series of coordinates again, which she tucks into her robes. "Who put you up to this?"</p><p>“You’d report directly to me.” <em>Ah, so he’s not playing by the MACUSA rulebook. </em>(Natasha’s favourite kind of subterfuge.) Fury watches her carefully. “If you want to involve Hill and Barton, you can. I wouldn’t trust anyone else, though.”</p><p>“So if I have permission to discuss this with Hill…” She points her thumb over her shoulder in an unasked question, where Maria is waiting outside the closed door.</p><p>Fury laughs, suddenly lightening up. “You think I don’t know what my House Quidditch team is doing this afternoon? I like having the Quidditch Cup in my office, thank you.”</p><p>Natasha taps her nose in acknowledgment. She knew there was a reason she liked her foster father.</p><p>“Tell Hill to come in on your way out,” he says, settling behind his desk.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Steve has tried out four consecutive years for the Pukwudgie Quidditch team and failed to make the cut every year. He’s not the fastest on a broom, but he’s steady as long as he doesn’t get bowled over by a Bludger. Bucky has assured him multiple times during this summer that his growth spurt has only served to make him Bludger-proof. It's true; it takes more to knock him off his broom now. Skinny Steve would have fallen off the broom the second a Bludger forced him to swerve. Normal Steve can take a hit or two.</p><p>In other words, he’s prepared for this. All he needs to do is put a few Quaffles past Sam. Sam might be the Pukwudgie keeper, but he’s also one of Steve’s best friends. He can put a Quaffle past his best friend.</p><p>“You’ll be fine,” Sam pokes him reassuringly as Steve grips his broom tightly.</p><p>“I <em>am</em> fine,” Steve says. And he is.</p><p>As he joins the rest of the Pukwudgie Chaser hopefuls walking across the castle grounds, his heart sinks as he glimpses the figures swooping around the pitch, tossing a Quaffle back and forth. Steve can’t believe he’s up against <em>that</em>. There’s no way he’ll make the team this year if the people above them are trying out for Pukwudgie. Maybe Volstagg and Gamora are running plays with their friends up there with Sharon - two of them are wielding clubs while the other two are swerving and ducking, tossing a Quaffle back and forth between them.</p><p>Just as a Bludger barrels towards them indiscriminately, clubbed by someone above them, Sam yells. “Duck!”</p><p>“If you go easy on him just because he’s your best mate, I’ll know,” Sharon Carter reminds Sam as she stalks past their cowering forms in her Quidditch robes. The Bludger zooms back skywards. Despite being a fifth year, she’s been made Quidditch captain. This is unsurprising, really; but whether this is because she’s been on the team the longest of last year’s remaining team, or because she’s Headmistress’ Carter’s niece, he’s not sure. Right now, she’s got a clipboard in her hands and she couldn’t look <em>more</em> like the Headmistress if she tried.</p><p>Steve does a double take. Wait. If Sharon just joined them, then who is up there?</p><p>Sharon looks up at the people zipping up and down the pitch above them. “Hey!” She shouts upwards. They either do a good job of pretending they don’t hear her, or her voice just isn’t loud enough. Sharon brings out the whistle, and the people above them pause mid-flight. One of them immobilises the Bludger with a wand, which gets picked up by another figure as they begin their descent. Steve realises, staring up at the familiar auburn hair on one of the brooms, that they’re not from Pukwudgie at all.</p><p>“We booked the pitch for trials,” Sharon says, sounding slightly put out. He can understand why she’s antsy, though; Pukwudgie has had their butts handed to them repeatedly over the last few years in the Quidditch cup, and Sharon probably feels the pressure to field the strongest team she can find. The Wampus team's display of strength probably doesn't help much.</p><p>“Yeah, we saw. Your booking starts at 16:00. Before that, it’s a free country, isn’t it? It’s… 15:58 now.” Steve can’t tell if Barton does this to everyone, or if he’s just winding Sharon up on purpose. From the Cheshire Cat grin on his face, it’s probably a mix of both.</p><p>As Natasha’s tucking her broom - a vaguely familiar Cleansweep - in the crook of her arm, Bobbi Morse tugs Barton’s robes subtly. Barton shuts up, but keeps the grin. From a distance, Steve nods at Barton, who nods back.</p><p>“We’ll put this back,” Bucky says, tossing the immobilised Bludger in the air. “Unless you want to see how good they are at dodging Bludgers.”</p><p>Sharon’s eyes narrow. “We’re good, thanks.”</p><p>Barton laughs dryly at the immobilised Bludger Bucky proffers. “No need to injure them before they even pick a team, Barnes.” Barton and Morse take the Bludger back into storage, and Bucky climbs into the stands. Natasha tosses the Quaffle at Sharon as she climbs onto the stands after Bucky. “Have at it, Carter.”</p><p>“What are you still doing here?” Sharon asks them mildly, tucking the Quaffle under her arm and her blonde hair behind her ear. Steve is thinking the exact same thing: Yes, what <em>is</em> Natasha still doing here? Bucky, he can understand - Bucky has had a need to be around every humiliating moment of Steve’s life since they were eating dirt in the playground - but <em>Natasha</em>?</p><p>With the experience of a lifetime of reading Steve’s facial expressions, Bucky sweeps Natasha under his arm with a smirk. Her green eyes are twinkling, but the rest of her face betrays no discernible amusement. Interestingly, she doesn’t shrug his arm off.</p><p>“We’re here to offer Steve moral support,” Bucky says innocently, winking at Steve from where he’s hanging over the railings, one arm still around Natasha’s shoulder. “Romanoff is his Herbology and Transfiguration partner, you know.”</p><p>Sam chortles gleefully into his gloves. He nudges Steve. “I don’t see Rollins joining them, do you?”</p><p>“Oh, shut it,” Steve mutters mutinously.</p><p>Sharon continues to watch them uncertainly. “I don’t like the idea of open try outs…”</p><p>Sam shakes his head at Sharon. “Unless you’re running plays during try-outs, I don’t think it matters. Plus, Steve looks like could use the support.”</p><p>As if on cue, Bucky calls loudly, “go Stevie!” The Pukwudgie girls ‘trying out’ for the team titter behind him. He tries not to take it personally. Half of them are in love with Bucky and are shooting glares at Natasha next to him in the stands, and the other half seem to have developed a disturbing admiration for his newfound muscles.</p><p>He knows his friends mean it lovingly, but he’s going to murder Bucky and Sam once he’s done with this. His eyes shift past Sam’s grinning face, and then he nods at the stands.</p><p>“What’s Maria Hill’s excuse for being here, then?” Steve asks, noting the third figure who’s joined Natasha and Bucky in the stands, where they appear to be exchanging pleasantries. Steve notes, with a hint of schadenfreude, that Sam’s suddenly a lot less smug. Sharon shakes her head at the way Sam suddenly deflates, and busies herself with taking attendance.</p><p>“Okay,” Sharon says, turning back to the prospective Pukwudgie team. “Let’s start with a simple round around the pitch. Please form lines of fives. Sam, you can head up to the hoops and let me know how the view is from there.”</p><p>“Sure thing.” He can hear the relief in Sam’s voice to get out of Maria Hill’s line of sight. Less opportunity to make a fool of himself.</p><p>Half the people who signed up to try out are not great on their brooms, Steve realises with a surge of confidence. In other words, he might actually make the team this year. This thought distracts him long enough for someone to lob a Quaffle in his direction and have it hit him in the face. He thinks he can hear a pained ‘<em>oooohhhhh</em>’ of commiseration down in the stands. Probably Bucky.</p><p>“Focus, Steve-o!” Sam claps his keepers mitts together from where he’s positioned in front of the hoops. He’s not sure what possesses him to do it, but Steve pulls into a dive and goes after the dropped Quaffle. He catches it two feet from the ground and pulls level again before tossing it past Sam into a hoop.</p><p>“That’s it, Stevie!” Bucky lets out a loud whoop from where he’s leapt to his feet, and Steve thinks he can just about make out a vaguely impressed look on even Maria Hill’s face from where he’s making his way down to the pitch. Sharon is as methodical as ever, but she smiles and nods at him approvingly when he lands a few feet from her clipboard.</p><p>“Well done.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Steve accepts the compliment and glances, out of reflex, towards his best friend in the stands. He’s glad he hadn’t looked down at the stands while he was in the air, because there are more people now - probably the Thunderbird team, observing at Hill’s behest. Bucky clomps down noisily towards him, and behind Bucky, Natasha gives him a thumbs up before returning to watching the rest of the try-outs. He smiles.</p><p>“That was great, Stevie,” Bucky enthuses, leaning over the guard-rail and clapping him on the back so hard that it nearly knocks the wind out of Steve. “I look forward to playing you for real. Oi, Sharon! Did Stevie make the team or what?”</p><p>Sharon, to her credit, doesn’t look away from the pitch while giving Bucky an answer.</p><p>“Why don’t you wait and see?”</p><p>He hears T’Challa’s little sister quip, “it would be better if he had not dropped the Quaffle in the first place.”</p><p>Bucky sniggers.</p><p>“That’s not an answer, Carter,” Maria Hill calls back.</p><p>Sharon tears her eyes off the field for a brief second to give Maria Hill an exasperated look. “You’ll find out when you find out, Hill.”</p><p>“…she means yes,” Natasha comments dryly.</p><p>“Don’t ruin it for everyone, Romanoff,” Sharon tsks. Steve settles on the bench next to Scott Lang to watch the rest of the trials.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s not a no,” he hears someone else mutter behind him.</p><p>“Great,” Hill enthuses. “Now I know how to run my team against theirs.”</p><p>“You going to set Wade on him?” Bucky sounds amused.</p><p>“There’s no need to tell Maria how to run her team,” Natasha (thankfully) interjects.</p><p>“That’s true too,” Bucky says, shutting up to watch the rest of the try outs.</p><p>On the bench, Steve tries not to get cowed by the prospect of being set upon by the Thunderbird Beater. He’s seen the size of Wade Wilson’s muscles, and he wishes, not for the first time, that Bucky would just learn to keep his mouth shut.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>The muscles at Natasha’s hip are on fire after Quidditch practice on Sunday morning, and the wool chafes uncomfortably against her sweaty skin. The pain has nothing to do with T’Challa’s rigorous training plans or the late-rising autumnal sun that has crept up on them - she’s been through much worse without breaking a sweat - but she’s happy to let her teammates think otherwise. As they file out of the Wampus locker room back towards the main castle building, her hand reaches for the small of her back again, scratching the growing Mark through the wool sweater.</p><p>“Are you okay, fair Natasha? I noticed your discomfort during our second play.” Thor slings a sweaty arm over her shoulder. Natasha has to fight to keep her expression neutral even though she’s obviously losing the battle with the familiar obnoxious burning sensation behind the crest of her right hip. If their sweet but oblivious keeper has noticed it, the rest of the team most certainly has. She keeps her back ramrod straight and resists the urge to massage the spot where the Mark is again, knowing that drawing attention to her back is not going to help her case. She tries to shrug Thor’s arm loose, gym bag swinging awkwardly on one shoulder. “Just a little tense. Your arm is not really helping…”</p><p>“Oh, forgive me.”</p><p>Clint chuckles at her strained response, chalking it up to Thor’s currently very pungent, sweaty state.</p><p>“I find that an ice bath helps greatly with strained muscles,” Thor adds. “Perhaps you might make use of that in the Prefect’s bathroom.”</p><p>T’Challa’s eyebrows raise in a question as the gravel path crunches under their feet. “But you are not a Prefect.”</p><p>“That is not to say that I am unaware of the wonders of a Prefect bathroom, good sir!” Thor booms, slinging his bag of gear over his other shoulder and nearly hitting Natasha on the head with his gym bag in the process. There is a snigger from one of her teammates as she ducks the bag that comes swinging in her direction.</p><p>“Sif?” Bobbi guesses quietly, behind her.</p><p>“Not a Prefect,” Clint mutters back. “Valkyrie?”</p><p>“Probably.”</p><p>“An ice bath sounds great,” Natasha musters up false enthusiasm at Thor’s suggestion. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Most excellent!” Thor says cheerfully, as they drift past a group of other students on their way out to Greylock Village. Thor recognises several of them and runs after them enthusiastically. “Sif! Hogun! Friends! Wait for me!”</p><p>“Take a shower first!” Hogun calls back. “I can smell you from here!”</p><p>The rest of the team doesn’t even bother concealing their peals of laughter, which ring through the Main Hallway.</p><p>Natasha is thankful for this momentary distraction, because it gives her the opportunity to slip five floors up the South staircase to knock on the door of Professor May’s office.</p><p>“Come in,” Professor May calls. Natasha pushes the door open and shuts it behind her quickly, setting her Cleansweep and gym bag in the corner of the room. She looks up and nods once in greeting. “Natasha.”</p><p>“It’s growing again,” Natasha says without preamble.</p><p>Professor May looks up from her book in mid-flip, surprise registering in her almond eyes. “We checked it before the Cascades trip.”</p><p>During the school term, Professor May is usually just that - a professor. But outside the school term, Professor May becomes Melinda May, the woman Fury had called when he realised several months into his stint as a foster father that he’d acquired custody of a prepubescent girl who would eventually need to buy bras and tampons, and that he’d not been equipped to advise on either.</p><p>Natasha needs Melinda May today.</p><p>“It started hurting again at practice.”</p><p>May snaps her book shut and stands up, beckoning for Natasha to show her the Mark. She wrinkles her nose as she rounds her desk. “Urgh, you stink.”</p><p>“Thor,” Natasha says by way of explanation, pulling her cranberry-coloured sweater up and turning around so May can examine the Mark properly.</p><p>“Two words: Thor-proof deodorant.” Natasha appreciates that May doesn’t even ask how she ended up smelling like him. She prods at the Mark with her wand. “Hold still.”</p><p>The stinging sensation Natasha’d felt earlier during Quidditch practice disappears, and she sighs in relief. “You need to teach me that spell.”</p><p>“No use,” May says clinically. “You need a good angle.”</p><p>Natasha sighs. “How long more?”</p><p>“Hard to say. I think it’s a bit like puberty,” May says, prodding at the Mark one last time, tapping on Natasha’s back to let her know to pull down her sweater. “Let me know once it starts moving.”</p><p>Natasha makes a noncommittal sound as she tugs her sweater down, and turns around to face May. May is leaning against her desk, appraising Natasha carefully with an odd expression on her face. “What? Do I have something on my face?”</p><p>“You haven’t told your friends?”</p><p>“No,” Natasha shakes her head.</p><p>“You should,” May says shortly. “Let them know you haven’t cut them out of your life when you stop answering their letters eventually.”</p><p>Something in May’s voice makes Natasha assess her deliberately from where she’s perched on the armrest of the chintz chair, but May doesn’t give an inch as to what she’s thinking as Natasha probes carefully. Instead, she circles back around to her book and flaps her hand at Natasha. “Scram.”</p><p>Natasha picks up her things and lets herself out, stopping by the Prefects’ bathroom to wash herself clean in rich pink suds that do a marvellous job of removing Thor’s natural odour.</p><p>Clint, thankfully, is the only person loitering in the common room when she climbs through the Wampus portrait hole, settled in a beanbag by the open balcony doors.</p><p> “Where did you go?” He asks, nodding at her.</p><p>“Took an ice bath, like Thor suggested. I feel much better.” Natasha saunters past him onto the balcony, and makes a big show of stretching, which turns out to be a mistake.</p><p>“What is <em>that</em>?”</p><p>Natasha glances down. The bottom of the Mark - the tail - is peeking out from below the hemline of her grey wool sweater.</p><p>“Fury let you get a tattoo this summer?”</p><p>“Shh,” Natasha hisses, glancing at the portrait hole and the staircases leading up to their rooms. “Not so loud.”</p><p>“What, you don’t want people to know you got a tattoo?”</p><p>“It’s not a tattoo. It <em>appeared</em>.” She spits out the last word like it’s dirty - and in her case it most definitely is - because how many people can say that Marks magically blossom on their skin? She beckons him onto the balcony. The surprise is evident on Clint’s face, but he follows and shuts the arched doors behind him.</p><p>There is a beat while Clint processes this information. He doesn’t have to ask what it really is if it’s not a tattoo, and he certainly doesn’t need to ask what it means. There had always been unanswered questions about Natasha’s mother from the time the older Romanoffs had been apprehended by MACUSA Aurors and refused to divulge where Aliana Romanoff had gone. At the time, Natasha was too young to know anything material about the Romanoff family, but growing up in Fury’s care she’d heard all the rumours circulating in the wizarding community: that her mother had been killed off by her father’s family, that her mother’d turned herself into a magical beast to escape the Romanoffs, or that there was a blood curse placed on the Romanoff family. They were all a little bit right, of course.</p><p>“So it’s true, then? The rumours?” Clint leans against the marble balustrade, observing her from across the expanse of the balcony. His carefree demeanour from minutes earlier is entirely gone.</p><p>Natasha doesn’t budge from where she’s perched next to the balcony door. She stares past him, out towards the Misted Forest and the beginning of the lake. There’s no point lying about it, not when Clint had seen it. Even with a sea of grey granite between them, she knows Clint can hear her soft, “yeah.”</p><p>There’s another beat where she braces for the inevitable question of what they actually did to her mother, but it doesn’t come.</p><p>“This is what you meant by not going to the infirmary-”</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>“You weren’t really taking an ice bath,” he clarifies.</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>Another brief pause. She takes this opportunity to push off the rough-hewn stone wall and step up to the balustrades.</p><p>She feels Clint at her side before she hears him. “Any idea what you’ll be?”</p><p><em>Good,</em> Natasha thinks. He hasn’t seen the wings on her Mark.</p><p>“As long as it’s not a snake, I’m not particularly concerned,” Natasha lies dryly, turning her head to watch him. Even though her tone is deceptively light, she can tell Clint is worried when his brows furrow. “Maria know about this?”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“Pepper?”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“You planning on telling them?”</p><p>“…eventually.”</p><p>“Fury doing anything?”</p><p>“Does teaching me how to stay human count?” She’d processed this over and over again during the course of the summer. <em>It’s all about condition management now,</em> Fury had told her. She’s trying to joke about it because she’s come to terms with the fact that there’s nothing to be done, but some of that repressed rage must have creeped into her voice because Clint turns to look at her.</p><p>“There has to be something we can do.” Clint stays perfectly still, while she watches a flock of chirping Golden Snidgets flit around with the autumn breeze below them.</p><p>“No one’s ever found a cure for a blood curse,” she says. She knows that the hope will kill her before her condition will.</p><p>“We’ll find one,” he says, determined.</p><p>Her gaze softens as she watches her best friend glare angrily into space from her side. He’s always been the more emotional of the two of them, but it’s that same sentiment that made him stick up for a dangerous girl he hardly knew on the Il-Trak all those years ago. Even Fury, her assigned legal guardian, hadn’t given her a proper chance until Clint spoke up for her in that carriage. She’ll always owe Clint for having her back when no one else would.</p><p>“My mother disappeared when I was nine,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest in a protective gesture. “So I’ve got some time.”</p><p>Clint turns away from the horizon to look at her, his dismayed face lit up by the morning sun. “Tash…”</p><p>“I’ve got time,” she repeats. She’s not sure if she’s trying to convince him or reassure herself.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Steve has never seen Barton ever quite so eager to ask Professor Erskine questions after a Creature Care lesson before. It’s not like there was anything difficult about today’s subject - Fire Crabs - that would warrant such urgent questioning.</p><p>Today’s practical lesson on Fire Crabs passed mostly without incident - well, Bucky’s coveralls did catch fire twice during the taming of the Fire Crabs, but given the name of the creature in question Steve thinks they were fairly warned - and nothing happened in their little group of three that could possibly warrant Clint Barton’s newfound interest in Magizoology, much less Fire Crabs or the three-page essay Erskine assigns on the history of Fire Crab hunting.</p><p>Nonetheless, after the lesson, Barton practically elbows his way to the front of the classroom to talk to Professor Erskine while everyone is filing out of the Menagerie. Steve, who usually does have questions to ask about the creatures they study, lingers a polite distance behind, but he can still hear snatches of conversation.</p><p>“…recover from it…”</p><p>“…it’s not like dragon pox…”</p><p>“…anything that might…”</p><p>“…afraid not, to the best of my knowledge…”</p><p>When Barton’s shoulders droop at Professor Erskine’s reply to his question, Steve begins to wonder what the question might be.</p><p>During dinner, while Sam and Bucky are debating the outcome of this year’s National Quodpot League, Steve glances over at Barton’s table where he’s having dinner with Natasha and Maria Hill. His demeanour is not as deflated as it was previously, but he thinks it might have to do with the fact that he's with his friends at the moment.</p><p>Bucky follows his gaze to where Barton and his friends appear to be having a peculiarly quiet dinner and chuckles.</p><p>“Quit ogling Romanoff,” Bucky says, slapping Steve’s arm in jest. “Barton hasn’t left her side since Quidditch practice yesterday.”</p><p>Steve tears his eyes away from their table and looks at his best friends. “I wasn’t-” he begins, and then realises that it’s just easier to let Bucky believe this than explain what he’d noticed in the Menagerie earlier. While Bucky has a grin on his face, Sam looks concerned. “Sorry, what were you saying?”</p><p>“We were discussing whether the Albuquerque Archers will crush the Minneapolis Raiders this weekend,” Bucky says, a smirk on his face.</p><p>“I told him to dream on, but he’s trying to get me to put money on it,” Sam clarifies with some disdain.</p><p>“Buck, you seriously have a gambling problem,” Steve mutters, frowning. “Is there anything you don’t bet on?”</p><p>“Your love life?”</p><p>“What am I, chopped liver?” Sam looks extremely insulted at this revelation.</p><p>“I bet on you because you actually stand a chance with the girl you moon over,” Bucky grouses. “Stevie here, God bless his heart, can’t get the girl he likes to pay attention to him for more than two min-</p><p>“-hey, wiseass!” Steve cuts in. “You want me to spill the tea on you and Darcy Lewis?” To Sam, he says, “you will not believe the summer this stupid had-”</p><p>“-anyway,” Bucky claps a hand over Steve's mouth and continues smoothly, as though Steve hadn’t interrupted him, “Archers or Raiders?”</p><p>“No bets,” Sam says firmly, but his eyes are laughing.</p><p>Later that night, as he and Sam make their way back to the Pukwudgie dormitories, Sam gives him a weird look.</p><p>“You weren’t ogling Romanoff at dinner,” Sam begins. “What’s up?”</p><p>Steve hesitates as they walk past Bobbi Morse and Lance Hunter having a loud argument in the corridor. “Barton never asks Erskine for help with Creature Care.”</p><p>“So, maybe he got a new pet.”</p><p>“I don’t think Barton is the type to buy himself a Pygmy Puff over the weekend.” Sam gives the password to the portrait guarding their dormitory, and they climb into the portrait hole, making their way up the stairs into their room. </p><p>“Please, Pygmy Puffs are low-maintenance. Maybe he got himself something exciting. Like a Krup.”</p><p>“Nah, you need a license for that. But I don’t see Barton getting all emotional about a Krup, either.”</p><p>Steve sets his books down on his desk and turns to look at Sam, who's picking through his laundry.</p><p>“He was emotional?” Sam pauses in the middle of his rifling, intrigued. Like Steve, Sam knows that Barton is never outwardly distraught. He is stone cold serious when he’s upset about things, and a guy who appreciates a good joke the rest of the time.</p><p>“Like someone killed his hypothetical Krup. But worse.”</p><p>“I don’t know, man, maybe you’re reading too much into this.” Sam grabs his towel and heads into the boys’ bathroom to wash up. “Maybe he really needed an answer to a question about that thing you were studying.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Steve says, but he doesn’t really mean it. Sam wasn’t there at Creature Care. He didn’t see that crestfallen look on Barton’s face. Steve knows that look. He’s all too familiar with the defeat in Barton’s posture. In other words, Barton’s question sure as hell wasn’t about Fire Crabs.</p><p>“Aw befies,” Sam continues, poking his head out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in his mouth, “wha ca you oo awou ih?”</p><p>“Rinse then talk,” Steve instructs, from where he’s sitting at his desk. Sam gives him a look, but goes to do just that.</p><p>“I said, what can you do about it?”</p><p>Steve shrugs. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Exactly,” Sam says, hopping onto his own bed on the other side of the room, having changed into sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt. “Unless someone comes to you with a problem and asks you to fix it for them, don’t be a smartass. Don’t go looking for trouble.”</p><p>“You sound just like my ma.”</p><p>“That’s why I’m her favourite,” Sam sticks his tongue out at him. “So… what’s this about Darcy Lewis and Bucky, anyway?”</p><p>“I promised I wouldn’t tell.”</p><p>“And Captain America, with his military-neat bed and apple pie wholesomeness, is just so damn honourable. Come on, spill it,” Sam goads. Steve flings a gobstone in Sam’s direction, and is pleased when he hits his mark. “Ow!”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not supposed to get onto Magical Ontology until next term,” Pepper says, flipping Spellman’s Syllabary to page 803. “So I really think that this phrase should read, ‘<em>partnership between goblins and wizards’ </em>-”</p><p>“Yes,” Natasha says patiently, “but if you look at the time at which the runic text allegedly originated, the relationship between goblins and wizards have already descended into acrimony and this rune clearly means ‘<em>defence</em>’-”</p><p>“You don’t actually know that the text was pre-goblin rebellion, and relations were definitely cordial before that. Hey, I was-” Pepper’s protest was cut off as she realised who was holding her homework. “Oh, hi, Maria.”</p><p>“Geez, if you guys wanted to discuss goblin-wizard relations, you should’ve taken History of Magic like the rest of us,” Maria says, dropping into the nearest available seat with Pepper’s homework in her hand. “Why are you nerds discussing that stuff if you’re not taking the subject?”</p><p>“Translation issues,” Natasha and Pepper say in sync.</p><p>“The twin thing is creepy,” Bucky says, plopping into the seat next to Natasha.</p><p>“Don’t you have other friends to hang out with?” Pepper wrinkles her nose. Behind her, Clint stifles a laugh.</p><p>“Pukwudgie’s Quidditch practices are on Tuesday evenings this year,” Bucky explains.</p><p>“Right,” Pepper says. “Wait, if you guys are done with History of Magic…”</p><p>“Yup, it’s ten past four already,” Maria says, checking her watch.</p><p>Pepper sighs and with a wave of her wand, sends her books and quills flying back into her book bag. To Natasha, she asks, “Nat, can we pick this up later? I have a Debate Club meeting in five.”</p><p>“Ancient Runes is first period tomorrow,” Natasha reminds her. Pepper makes a noise of resigned irritation.</p><p>“You know, the solution to your translation issue is pretty simple,” Maria says, handing Pepper’s homework back to her.</p><p>Pepper raises an eyebrow as she stuffs her parchment into her book bag. “Which is?”</p><p>“You both submit the translation you think is right, and then see who gets higher marks.”</p><p>At this, Pepper rolls her eyes and waves goodbye to the group.</p><p>“Admit it, it’s a good idea,” Maria says. Natasha shrugs. She was planning on writing ‘<em>defence</em>’ regardless of what Pepper said anyway.</p><p>Clint settles into Pepper’s old seat. “Sounds legit.” He leans over Maria to grab several slices of the pizza that have just appeared on the table. He looks at Natasha solemnly. “You told her yet?”</p><p>“Told me what?” Maria picks up a slice of pizza off the platter in front of her.</p><p>“Yeah, told her what?” Bucky echoes.</p><p>“I was talking about Pepper,” Clint says quickly, as Pepper practically runs out of the Dining Hall to Debate Club. It really is a shame they’re not allowed to Disapparate within the castle grounds. They'd get places a lot faster.</p><p>“What was she supposed to tell Pepper?” Maria asks curiously.</p><p>“That I’m Potions buddies with Stark,” Natasha feels stupid as she says this, but at least Clint didn’t let the cat out of the bag. “Tony’s trying to win her back, remember?”</p><p>“Oh, she already knows,” Maria waves her hands in a pooh-pooh gesture, pulling her books out of her bag. She fixes Natasha with a look that tells her she knows what Clint meant. “Anyway, have you guys started on Logan’s Herbology essay?”</p><p>“Done,” Clint says. “It’s amazing how much time you have when you don’t take Transfiguration.”</p><p>Maria makes a face in response.</p><p>“How about Fury’s DADA homework?” Bucky asks hopefully. “Or, Barton, have you started on Erskine’s Creature Care assignment yet?”</p><p>Clint’s face flickers for a moment. “You know what, I’ll be in the library if either of you need me.”</p><p>“You not sticking around?” Maria asks curiously. “You just got here.”</p><p>“Nah, I’ve got letters to reply.”</p><p>Clint is gone before either of them can form a proper response, although he does hold Natasha’s gaze for a little longer than he has to - not long enough for her to pick through his brain, but enough for her to know that he’s still processing what she’d told him on Sunday. She wonders if she’ll find him in the Creatures or Curses section of the Ilvermorny library.</p><p>Maria turns to Natasha. “Since when does he reply letters?”</p><p>Watching him retreat, Natasha wonders what Clint wouldn’t do for the people he cares about. She settles on, “he’s always been a family man.”</p><p>Maria doesn’t seem too upset by the insinuation that she’s not Clint’s family, and they settle into a companionable silence, working on their assignments for the next hour or so. The second Bucky disappears when Rogers and Wilson return from Quidditch practice, Maria turns to her, snapping her Herbology textbook shut with a loud snap.</p><p>“Alright, ‘fess up. What did you and Barton discuss this weekend?”</p><p>Natasha presses her hands together, rapidly computing how many possible ways there are to digress. It’s not that she doesn’t want to tell Maria, but it’s also not the sort of thing that Maria needs to know right now. She and Maria have an understanding that whatever friendship they have is predicated on the assumption that they will eventually be MACUSA colleagues, and they will always need to have each other’s backs. It is, therefore, entirely on this basis - that they will both be working for the Auror Office - that she decides not to tell Maria what Clint discovered this weekend. She glances around discreetly. The hall is only starting to fill up with students, but Natasha doesn’t want to chance it.</p><p>“Let’s head to the lake.”</p><p>This, too, Maria understands perfectly.</p><p>In the fading embers of the setting sun, the lake side is frigid. It’s a good thing, Natasha reassures herself; this ensures that practically no one would come out there but them. Just for good measure, Natasha throws up a Muffliato charm and conjures up lake-water animals to shield them from the wind.</p><p>“So.” Maria’s breath comes out in a faint puff of white.</p><p>“Dark Energy,” Natasha begins. “Fury wants me to start visiting recent occurrences.”</p><p>Maria pops one of her lake-water animals with a prick of her wand and a chilly breeze sweeps into their little bubble of silence. The thought of conjuring animals made of fire is tempting, but Natasha knows very well that Fiendfyre is a MACUSA Class 2 Offence without the appropriate permits. Instead, she conjures a single flame in her palm, which throws just enough light for her to make out Maria’s slim figure pacing on the gravelled shore to keep warm.</p><p>“You must have some idea of where to start based on what he’s asked you to help out with.”</p><p>Natasha is glad Maria assumes this is what she’d discussed with Clint this weekend. Truth be told, there are things she needs to discuss with Maria about Fury’s assignment that Clint will not understand, simply by virtue of the fact that Maria spent her summer interning with Phil Coulson at the Auror Office.</p><p>“Yup.” The wind whistles then, shaking loose a smattering of leaves and whittling the lake-water animals down to two tortoises snapping at Maria’s ankles. Maria does the shaping of the animals this time, and a little hive of bees that dance around them. “And… you have something you’re supposed to check out.” Natasha had deduced this fairly quickly; there’s no way Maria would have been willingly detained by Fury for two whole hours unless he’d assigned her something more monumental than checking out Dark Energy anomalies.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“But you’re not supposed to tell me.”</p><p>Natasha searches through Maria’s head, but she’s a natural Occlumens. There’s a reason Fury trusts Maria with information. She’s harder to break than a Gringotts vault. “Yes. Your information. I’m supposed to know about it?” There is a pause in the crunching of gravel as Maria turns to look at her.</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>“Spill.”</p><p>She shrugs. Natasha sends another swirl of water into the air, this time in the form of a little litter of fox terriers while she picks her words carefully, keeping her tone neutral.</p><p>“He thinks there are Inferi involved.”</p><p>Maria understands this, but doesn’t seem fazed by the prospect of an Inferi army, or facing whatever other creatures might come out of whatever tracking these Dark Energy sources entails. <em>Good.</em> Another beat goes by while the little liquid terriers trot around the bench and the crystalline bees swarm overhead. The terriers attempt to nuzzle Maria’s knees, too, but they burst upon contact with her wool slacks. She pulls out her wand to dry off her trousers. When she’s done, she tilts her head to look at Natasha.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Why what?”</p><p>“Why does Fury think that?”</p><p>“I don’t ask questions,” Natasha reminds her. “I just follow the directives.”</p><p>There is a lull in the conversation where Maria settles on the bench next to her. “Why do you think anyone would do that?”</p><p>Natasha doesn’t answer her at first, focusing on trying to keep the flame in her hand steady. She’s not sure whether she’s referring to her or the person behind all this, but the usual reasons come to mind. <em>Power. Fame. Money. Revenge. </em>She knows why she’d raise hell, but she’s not sure if she can speak for whoever’s doing it now, too. <em>Absolution.</em> To wipe out the red in her ledger.</p><p>“Me? I’d do it for the laughs. I imagine my Uncle Igor getting away with it just to prove he could. He had a competitive streak in him.” Natasha’s voice comes out saltier than she expected, and the flame in her palm flickers as she chuckles darkly. “Come to think of it, so does everyone else in my family.” <em>Those that survived the Auror raids,</em> <em>at least,</em> she adds silently.</p><p>“Nat.” Maria’s lips quirk in the faint firelight at Natasha’s attempt at humour.</p><p>“What can I say? Dark Wizards are competitive people.”</p><p>“Seriously.” In Maria’s voice is the implied <em>you’re better than that</em>.</p><p>And Natasha knows she could be. She could be.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Clint reads and re-reads Laura’s last letter (“<em>don’t open it until after the first week of term, so you have things to tell me about</em>”, she’d instructed him) in the quiet of the library, admiring the imprinted loops in her letters with his calloused fingertips.</p><p>Some of the things she’d written about had been things she’d hinted at before he’d left for Ilvermorny (“…<em>I think you’d love the new palomino that my parents just bought and asked me to break in… she reminds me of my old pony Buttercup - temperament wise, at least. Colouring wise, they could not be more different…”</em>).</p><p>Some things she’d written about in advance (<em>“…By the time you read this, assuming you’ve kept your promise not to open this letter, homecoming season would have just started, and I’m sure it’s the same over there…”</em>).</p><p>He had realised belatedly last night - while lying point blank about why he was actually going to the library - that Laura might think he doesn’t give a shit about her (which is a total lie; Clint gives many shits about her) if she doesn’t get a reply soon, but he’d been so caught up with Quidditch and trying to help Tash with her <em>thing</em> (that she doesn’t seem to want to help herself with, it seems) that he completely forgot about her letter until last night. (In Clint’s defence, he had attempted a reply last weekend, but he’d gotten so frustrated with it that whatever he had written had ended up in the common room fire.)</p><p>So here, in the quiet of the library on a Wednesday morning, he begins writing about the first thing that comes to mind, desperation his only motivator. His quill swoops across the page in response, hurriedly scratching out sentences about the Wampus Quidditch try-outs that happened. He’s halfway through a sentence -<em>You should’ve seen me on that broomstick! I think I did a better job without my Beater gear than with it; it’s a shame Tasha’s playing Beater this year </em>- before he realises, belatedly, that he can’t tell Laura about Quidditch because he’ll be breaching the International Statute of Secrecy. So he strikes that portion of the letter through. He can’t tell Laura about Natasha’s condition either, so that portion goes as well.</p><p>He stops to admire his handiwork. The letter is basically a big blob of strikethroughs. It’s okay. He’ll just copy the letter over onto another roll of parchment - no, they use <em>paper</em> in the No-Maj world; he’ll copy it onto a proper piece of paper - later. He should consolidate first.</p><p>He stares at the letter he’s got right now, which - disbelievingly - reads a grand total of two words and a single comma: “<em>Dear Laura,</em>”.</p><p>For some reason, reading those two words over and over again infuriates Clint. <em>Dear Laura.</em> <em>Dear Laura.</em> That’s all he has. <em>Dear. Laura.</em></p><p>Clint is Pissed. </p><p>Pissed.</p><p>With a capital P.</p><p>Fuck letter writing and the people who say it’s a lost art. It’s lost for a reason if he sits at a desk for a whole fucking hour and all he can write to the No-Maj girl he likes is <em>Dear Laura</em>.</p><p>He has nothing to write about. As far as Laura is concerned, Clint lives a boring life in a boring school and the only thing that Clint can actually write about without breaking the law is the fucking betting pool Bucky Barnes has going on everyone’s love lives.</p><p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
</p><p>Clint pauses his mental tirade.</p><p>Maybe he’ll write about that.</p><p>Every school has gossip, right? That’s not too bad. This thought calms Clint down enough to put his quill to his parchment without stabbing a hole in it.</p><p>
  <em>It’s been a couple of weeks, and already one of my classmates has a betting pool going on about -</em>
</p><p>“Barton.”</p><p>Speak of the devil. Clint looks up to see Bucky Barnes sliding into a seat opposite him.</p><p>Clint might not be fond of the library, but he’s a huge fan of the quiet, which is exactly what the Ilvermorny library is on a Wednesday morning. Bucky Barnes is a fan of neither, so something is definitely up. He greets Bucky, and then waits. “Barnes.”</p><p> Bucky does not disappoint.</p><p>“What’s the deal with you and Romanoff?”</p><p>Clint has been fobbing off questions like these for as long as he’s been attending school. He thought Bucky would’ve gotten the memo by now. They’re in the same year, for God’s sake. A few seconds pass, and Clint belatedly realises that Bucky is still waiting for a response. “There is no deal.”</p><p>“Seriously?” Bucky doesn’t sound like he believes him. “Even though she’s like, really hot?”</p><p>He looks Bucky dead in the eye. Tasha is his best friend, but that’s all she is. Besides, she’d hex the crap out of him if she ever heard him talking about her like that and frankly, that’s something he could do without. He can’t wait to tell her what Bucky has said. “Do you have a death wish?”</p><p>“Sorry. No. I just mean…” he trails off, looking for words, and his eyes find Clint’s parchment. “Who’s Laura?”</p><p><em>Oh shit.</em> If Bucky’s eyes get any further, he’s going to have to explain himself a lot more, so Clint rolls up his parchment with a sigh. He’s not going to get any writing done while Bucky Barnes is in his face. “What’s this about?”</p><p>Bucky smiles slickly. “You got me intrigued now, man. Who’s Laura?”</p><p>“My sister,” Clint lies, setting his letter writing equipment back into his bag. He’s no Tasha, but he can play a mean game of No-Maj poker if he needs to. “Nothing interesting.”</p><p>Bucky’s eyebrows come up. “You have a sister? Since when?”</p><p>“She’s a Squib,” Clint says defensively. He figures that’ll get Bucky to shut up about Laura. No one ever talks about their Squib relations here at Ilvermorny.</p><p>“Oh,” Bucky blinks, then scratches the back of his neck as though something’s just occurred to him. “Yeah, Romanoff mentioned you were a family man.”</p><p>He looks like he’s going to continue asking about Laura, and Clint needs to divert Bucky’s attention from this train of thought. Stat. “You were asking me whether Romanoff and I were a thing because…?”</p><p>Bucky blinks, then shrugs. “Checking if she’s single.”</p><p>“<em>You</em>?” Clint looks Bucky up and down exaggeratedly. “Sorry man, you’re not her type.”</p><p>“No, not me,” Bucky says defensively (and loudly), just as Madam Lello, the librarian walks by with a disapproving look. Clint makes an appropriately apologetic face, and suppresses a laugh as she turns and makes her way towards another section of the library, muttering about dumb jocks and Swivenhodge courts.</p><p>Clint thinks back to the way Bucky had casually invited her to watch the Pukwudgie Quidditch try-outs with him over the weekend, and then inspiration strikes him. “Rogers?” He guesses.</p><p>Bucky’s eyes narrow. “How’d you know?”</p><p>“If it’s not you, who else is it gonna be?” It’s exactly because of incidents like these that people think Wampus is for dumb jocks. He’s sure Bucky has a brain in there somewhere. He’s definitely seen him use it before.</p><p>“Right,” Bucky says quickly and quietly. At least he remembers that he’s in the library. “So…”</p><p>“So…” Clint echoes.</p><p>“Natasha,” Bucky prompts.</p><p>“Definitely not into dating her,” Clint clarifies. When Bucky looks unconvinced, Clint adds, “I’m into dating someone else.”</p><p>There is a beat where Bucky thinks about this, and then grins. “So that rumour about you and Morse… that’s true?”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” Clint’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline.</p><p>“It’s okay, you can tell me.”</p><p>“What rumour?”</p><p>Clint’s genuinely puzzled face must really suggest that there is no basis to whatever this rumour purports to monger, because Bucky’s face falls. “Guess it’s not true then.”</p><p>“What rumour?” Clint presses.</p><p>“I thought Morse dumped Hunter because of you.”</p><p>“Whoa,” Clint holds out his hand in the universal ‘stop’ gesture. “If Bobbi dumped Lance, I had nothing to do with it.” He pauses, and then tilts his head in thought. “They broke up?”</p><p>“Yeah, like two, three days ago?” Bucky confirms. He watches Clint carefully, and leans back in his seat when Clint continues to look confused. “You really didn’t know? Huh.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Tony and Bruce are on their way to lunch and in the middle of a rousing discussion about how to mimic the properties of lacewing flies with other non-insect ingredients when Betty Ross approaches them. She does not look happy.</p><p>“Angry ex-girlfriend at your three o’clock,” Tony mutters in warning. “Incoming.”</p><p>Bruce doesn’t look. “Yours or mine?”</p><p>“Yours,” Tony says. Bruce sighs resignedly.</p><p>“Bruce,” Betty’s voice is taut. “Can we talk?”</p><p>Bruce casts Tony a sideways glance before looking at Betty. “Sure.”</p><p>“I was thinking privately, actually.”</p><p>“You know,” Tony points out, drawing Betty’s ire away from Bruce for a split second, “if you wanted private, you’d have confronted him in the comfort of the Horned Serpent common room. Let’s… have a civil conversation out here.”</p><p>“Here?” Betty looks around the corridor. It’s not completely deserted, but it’s definitely not crowded at this hour, since most of the school is at lunch.</p><p>“Here,” Bruce confirms, but he sounds less certain than Tony knows he’d like to be.</p><p>“Fine.” Betty Ross grits her jaw. To Tony, she adds, “can you at least turn around and pretend you don’t exist?”</p><p>Tony rolls his eyes, but does so anyway. It’s kind of shocking how much Betty’s countenance resembles her father when she’s being rude about something, which used to be like, twelve percent of the time. (An argument could be made for fifteen percent.) It’s one of the reasons Tony was cool with her up until she got all upset about Bruce breaking up with her over the summer, anyway.</p><p>“I’ve been thinking about the break up, and you didn’t give me a good reason when we last spoke. I’d like that reason now, please.”</p><p>It’s been almost a month into the school term, and she wants a reason <em>now</em>? To be fair, Tony hadn’t seen much of Betty Ross in the past few weeks, given that she was in a different year from them. But, Tony reasons, Betty and Bruce are in the same House; she must have had opportunity to confront him before. <em>Hmm.</em></p><p>“Your dad and I aren’t going to get along.”</p><p>Tony winces very slightly. Even to Tony’s seasoned ears, that’s a flimsy reason for breaking up with Betty. But it’s also the truth: Bruce is less centrist than he used to be when he first started dating Betty, and President Ross’ politics are insanely conservative. Throughout his career, President Ross had been a strong advocate for the MACUSA Lycanthrope Register, MACUSA Half-Blood (Goblin, Giant &amp; Veela) Regulation Policies, and the Bill for Forced Deportation of Elderly House-Elves. (Tony is privately glad that it never passed into law: the Starks like to set their Elderly House-Elves up in an Elvish retirement home for their service, thank you very much. Forced deportation, indeed. What a load of rubbish.)</p><p>President Ross and his supporters also happen to be the same kind of assholes that Pepper Potts campaigns against with her student activism group SPEGGR, which Tony maintains is totally coincidental to his views on Ross’ policies. (Tony can’t remember exactly what SPEGGR stands for, but he remembers the day Pepper came up with it and the sparkle in her eyes when she did. It was also the day he knew he was in love with her.)</p><p>“You’ve only met him once.”</p><p>“And I don’t think I want to meet him again,” Bruce says tiredly. Tony can tell it really pains Bruce to admit it. He really did like Betty. “I just … don’t think our politics are compatible in the long run.”</p><p>“My dad will warm up to you once he gets to know you.”</p><p>Watching Bruce’s reflection in an adjacent window, Tony notices that Bruce tries and fails to keep his expression neutral. “I really doubt that.”</p><p>“So… let me get this straight,” Betty says slowly. “You broke up with me because your politics and my dad’s politics are incompatible.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And what if I don’t believe in my dad's politics?”</p><p>Get out, get out, Tony starts chanting silently in his head. He recognises a trap when he hears one. He’s been in enough of them to know. Pepper used to set them up for him all the damn time. Geez, Bruce sure knows how to pick them.</p><p>“It’s not that,” Bruce says. “I just…”</p><p>“You just what?”</p><p>“…can’t… see a future with you.”</p><p>“This is even though I, Betty Ross, have nothing to do with the actual reason you broke up with me.”</p><p>It’s a good thing neither Betty nor Bruce are paying attention to him because Tony is full on cringing now, which really shouldn’t be the case. Cringing on Tony’s behalf is Bruce’s full time job and Pepper’s part time job. (Or at least, it used to be her part time job until the Strawberry Incident.)</p><p>Tony doesn’t hear Bruce’s soft reply, but an audible slap has him turning around, with his wand pointed directly at Betty. No one slaps his Potions Bro and gets away with it.</p><p>“Walk away, Ross.” Betty levels a glare at Tony before doing just that. To Bruce, Tony looks over the red mark on his cheek. Nothing like the worst slap Tony’s ever gotten, but certainly painful enough to leave a mark.</p><p>He conjures a block of ice and hands it to Bruce. “That’s gonna bruise.”</p><p>“I deserve it,” Bruce mumbles, holding the ice to his face for a minute, before thinking better of it and conjuring a towel to wrap around the block of ice.</p><p>“No, you don’t.” Tony says emphatically, narrowing his eyes at Betty’s retreating form. He wonders if he needs to call his dad to buy out a few members of MACUSA with donations before President Ross’ next stupid policy idea. “You really don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>As Clint drops his letter to Laura off at the No-Maj Post Office in Greylock Village (finally!), for the very first time in his six years at Ilvermorny he realises that one of the smartest things his school has ever done is have its students hide in plain sight by presenting themselves as a highly selective boarding school in Massachussetts.</p><p>It also means that one of the highly regulated ways Ilvermorny students are allowed to communicate with their No-Maj friends in the outside world is to have their mail sent through the No-Maj postal system. Clint can’t fathom how long it will take for his very first letter to reach Laura - a system run entirely by No-Majs, without magic! - but it will definitely be slower than the owl post he sent to his parents last evening.</p><p>It is on his way to the Iron Cauldron Pub for a pint of Butterbeer that balmy autumn afternoon (“<em>Seventeens and above only!</em>” the tiny door gnome squeaks as he pushes the door open) that Clint hears a snatch of conversation that he thinks he shouldn’t be hearing.</p><p>“…a werewolf in the Misted Forest the other night…”</p><p>“…you think it’s one of the Village residents?”</p><p>“…good chance it’s an Ilvermorny student…”</p><p>“…wait.”</p><p>Clint lingers at the bar through his shamefully delicious pumpkin flavoured pint (“<em>it’s a limited edition flavour just through October!</em>”), trying to see if he can pick up more of the conversation, but the speakers have taken the necessary precautions, talking in low voices near the perpetually crowded entrance of the pub, carefully hidden from his view by a set of ebony balustrades.</p><p>He finishes his pint and ventures nears the balustrades on the pretext of visiting the bathroom on the second floor, but as he draws nearer his ears are filled with an unpleasant buzzing sound. <em>Muffliato</em>. Of course.</p><p>He belatedly remembers that he was supposed to meet Pepper and Natasha for lunch at the Hooted Owl Cafe, but when he gets there, Pepper is sitting with her arms crossed at a table by the window and a half-finished coffee, while Natasha is nowhere to be seen.</p><p>“You’re late,” Pepper says, downing the rest of her coffee and shoving a paper bag unceremoniously at him. “Natasha ordered for you.”</p><p>He checks the bag as he plops himself into the seat opposite Pepper. It appears to be grilled cheese and… mushroom? Not the worst thing Natasha’s made him eat in penance. He’ll take it.</p><p>“Sorry,” he says through a mouthful of cheese and chewy fibrous thing that must be some really tough mushroom. “I got caught up with something.”</p><p>“Like what?” Pepper asks curiously.</p><p>Clint glances around furtively. There are several other Ilvermorny students nearby, some of whom can’t be trusted to keep their yaps shut. “Let’s not discuss this out in the open,” he says, after a beat. Pepper looks intrigued now, but she pulls him to his feet and gestures to Main Street, intent on leading him somewhere. He jogs to keep up with her strides, and he realises that they’re headed for the apothecary at the end of the street. Neither he nor Pepper take Potions, so he figures that’s where Tasha must be. The sandwich is gone by the time she pushes the doors open to Four Clovers Potions Supplies. He’s glad to see that he’s right about where Tasha was: she’s presently keenly eying the contents of several glass jars. Newt tails and frog spawn, the labels read. Clint is glad he dropped Potions first chance he could.</p><p>“About time,” Natasha says, turning her gaze onto them.</p><p>“Clint was about to tell us why he was late,” Pepper says. Natasha glances at him, but he’s not joking around right now. This is serious stuff, and she knows it from the look on his face.</p><p>“Okay, give me a minute. I want to check out the dried Flutterby berries.” She ushers them into a quiet corner of the store, away from the front counter and prying eyes.</p><p>“So, what did you get caught up with?” Pepper asks, glancing at the sachets of beetle eyes (‘<em>BEST QUALITY FOR 250 YEARS!’</em>, the bright paper wrapping proudly proclaims in red and green) on display.</p><p>“I was passing by the Iron Cauldron,” he begins. Both Tasha and Pepper exchange a half-amused, half-exasperated look at this, but he continues. “I heard a couple of people talking about it in the back - that there’s a werewolf at Ilvermorny,” he finishes.</p><p>Natasha doesn’t flinch at all, just tilts her head as she continues to leisurely inspect loose dried berries in a hemp sack. “That’s interesting,” she comments.</p><p>“A werewolf?” Pepper sounds alarmed, nearly dropping the bag of mint leaves she’s holding on the floor. “Isn’t that-”</p><p>“-just hearsay,” Tony Stark says, popping his head out from behind a shelf of shaved mandrake root with a basketful of potions ingredients. <em>Where the hell did he come from?</em> “Walk with me, folks? I gotta ring these up.”</p><p>“You paying for my bicorn horn powder, Stark?” Natasha quirks her lips in a half-smile, shaking the bottle in her hand at him and follows him to the counter.</p><p>“Sure,” Stark says easily. <em>Interesting.</em> Clint saw the price tag on that bottle when he walked in earlier; he didn’t know Stark and Tasha were friends. Either that, or the Starks really do have too much money on their hands. Passing by a freezer of vacuum-sealed jackalope parts (from ‘<em>Premium Class A Jackalopes</em>’, the label reassures them), Natasha follows him as he sets his items on the counter to be rung up.</p><p>Clint barely recognises any of the unlabelled ingredients, having gotten a Dreadful on his Potions OWL. Tony turns his gaze on to Clint, who is hanging back with Pepper. “Heard Rollins and Rumlow gossiping, did you?”</p><p>Pepper glances at Clint uncertainly.</p><p>“Yeah,” Clint nods, even though he wasn’t sure that it was Rollins or Rumlow back at the pub. “Sounds serious.”</p><p>“Those two are the biggest conspiracy nuts there are in the year. Remember last year they were all yelling about encountering an actual Bigfoot?”</p><p>Clint does remember this. It caused an uproar last year, especially when Rumlow and Rollins spent most of fifth year running around trying to convince everyone that they’d encountered a North American yeti in the Misted Forest. This “Bigfoot” turned out to be nothing more than one of Professor Erskine’s loose porlocks that had been hit with a wayward Growth Spell. Natasha lets out a snort. “Who could forget? Professor Erskine was ready to skin them both for being idiots.”</p><p>Tony shakes his head and plucks the mint leaves out of Pepper’s hand with ease, setting it back on the shelf while the cashier reads out the total. “Exactly! Anyway, you don’t want to make tea with these, babe. They’ve been treated with bundimun mucus pesticide.”</p><p>Pepper presses her lips together, but doesn’t protest the abrupt removal of the tea from her hands. Clint braces for the inevitable barrage of comments on his use of the word ‘babe’ while Tony pays for his potions ingredients, but it never comes. Clint has never known Tony to be voluntarily quiet, or Pepper to pass up an opportunity to roast him. They stand there, in awkward silence, until Tony hands Natasha a small brown package with a small flourish. “Your bicorn horn, milady.”</p><p>“Thanks. Is that for the bubotuber pus experiment?” Natasha asks, pointing at the paper bag in his arms.</p><p>Tony smiles uncharacteristically wryly. “And change.”</p><p>“Let me know how it goes.” Natasha eyes the bag.</p><p>Some blue flowers tumble out of the bag just as Tony shrugs in response.</p><p>“Here, you dropped this.” Pepper sets the sprig at the top of the bag.</p><p>Tony stiffens, almost imperceptibly, and then sets the bag down just so he can shove the offending item to the bottom. “Thanks.” He nods at them and slips the sunglasses over his eyes before practically bolting from the shop. “See you guys.”</p><p>Clint watches him go with a growing sense of confusion. “When has Tony ever fled from Pepper?”</p><p>At the same time, Pepper blurts out, “what was that about?”</p><p>“Maybe he’s grown up?” Natasha shrugs easily. Too easily. And then she breaks into a grin. “By the way, you owe me five Sickles.”</p><p>“<em>What</em>? What <em>for</em>?” Clint squawks loudly. The shopkeeper frowns at him from behind the counter. He holds up his hands in apology. “Sorry, sorry.” He ushers his friends out of the shop so he can continue his indignant tirade outside. “What do you mean I owe you five Sickles?”</p><p>“The sandwich,” Natasha explains.</p><p>“That thing cost <em>five Sickles</em>?” he yelps. That’s a whole month’s worth of mail-order No-Maj stationery supplies from Office Depot. “What was in it? Gold flakes?”</p><p>“Marinated bamboo shoots and four <em>delectable</em> cheeses. I hope you liked the gorgonzola with honey.”</p><p>“Bamboo.” Clint can't believe it.</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>“You made me eat grass.”</p><p>“It’s grown on a farm in Japan where it gets played classical music.”</p><p>“It’s still grass.”</p><p>“Five. Sickles.” Her palm is outstretched.</p><p>Clint mutters testily about how the universal standardization of global wizarding currency causes massive inflation while he rummages around for change in his pocket reluctantly. Stupid monetary policy.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Tasty, Tasty, Flerken Vomit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>in which Bucky finds (and loses) money, Tony makes smelly ointment, and Maria sneaks out on a mission.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“They should ban people who take subjects for easy Os,” Steve mumbles, as he receives his Muggle Studies essay on the advancement of No-Maj technology with an EE at the top of his back from Professor Phillips. Both Sam and Bucky have Os at the top of theirs.</p><p>Bucky leans forward and smirks. “Then no one would take the subject.”</p><p>“You’ve made some improvement since last year,” Professor Phillips grunts at Clint Barton, who is seated to Sam’s left, directly in front of Steve. “Colour me pleasantly surprised.”</p><p>Steve peers over Barton’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of his grade. Like Steve, he has an EE on his paper. But unlike Steve, Barton had scraped through Muggle Studies all of last year. Everyone had been surprised - not least, Professor Phillips - when he’d opted to continue with it to NEWT level.</p><p>“Thank you,” Barton nods, practically shoving the paper into his bag. As Professor Phillips begins talking about the advent of technology for the No-Maj world, Steve finds his mind drifting. Not that he was particularly bored by technology, mind you, but even his No-Maj mother had trouble figuring out No-Maj technology a lot of the time, and between two wizards in the house, there’d really been no need to figure it out. In other words, technology is something Steve neither takes to, nor finds necessary.</p><p>So when Steve’s eyes conveniently find Barton reading a book, angled so that it looks like Barton’s concentrating really hard on his textbook, Steve is vaguely interested. What’s even stranger, Steve notices, that with every page flip Barton seems to sink into the same despair he’d only seen when he was talking to Erskine. Steve now finds himself intrigued by the contents of Barton’s reading material.</p><p>The next flip of the page reveals an illustration of a - was that a snake-woman? - frolic in the space between paragraphs that are printed too small for Steve to make out properly. He watches as the figure of the woman transforms into a giant snake, practically leaping out at the reader, before morphing back again into a woman with a medieval gown and hair piled high.</p><p>“Rogers!”</p><p>Steve sits bolt upright in his seat, jolted back to reality. Had he been obvious about reading Clint’s book over his shoulder? “Yes, sir?”</p><p>“When was the Industrial Revolution?”</p><p>Steve has no clue, but he hazards a guess, “1800s?”</p><p>This answer does not seem to appease Professor Phillips, who presses, “more precisely?”</p><p>Steve shrugs. “No idea, sir.”</p><p>Dissatisfied, Professor Phillips rounds onto his next scapegoat, who unfortunately happens to be Barton.</p><p>Surprisingly, he doesn’t miss a beat.</p><p>“Around the 1750s, ending in the mid 1800s.”</p><p>Phillips nods, satisfied, and Steve goes back to reading over Clint’s shoulder.</p><p>Unfortunately, Barton has since flipped the page. There are no illustrations on this page, or the rest of the pages for the rest of the chapter, so Steve has no idea whether the book is about Transfiguration or Creature Care or some other subject.</p><p>When the bell rings, Barton closes the book quietly, tucks it under his arm, and hoofs it in the direction of the library as fast as he can. Steve just about makes out the word ‘<em>Europe</em>’ in loopy cursive on the cover before Barton zips out of the classroom.</p><p>“What’s with him?” Steve asks, taking his time to pack his bag. Muggle Studies is their last lesson of the day, so there’s no reason for them to rush anywhere.</p><p>“Hell if I know,” Bucky shrugs, haphazardly stacking his books and shoving his ink and quills into his robe pockets.</p><p>“That was some book he was reading,” Sam observes, hitching his messenger bag onto his shoulder. “For someone who doesn’t take Transfiguration, he sure is interested in Animagi.”</p><p>“Maybe he’s studying to become one,” Bucky suggests.</p><p>“Maybe,” Steve concedes.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Natasha can’t quite focus on reviewing her Potions lab, even though she knows she should. To be honest, her mind’s been churning since that situation in Four Clovers this weekend.</p><p>The situation she’s found herself in is bothersome on several levels: at the most basic level, she’s hiding the truth from her friends, and has been ever since that night in the forest.</p><p>One step up from that is the fact that there are other people besides Fury (and possibly May) who know there is a werewolf at Ilvermorny. Rumlow and Rollins might well be troublemakers at worst and rumour mongers at least, but they either have first-hand knowledge of the werewolf’s existence, or know they someone who does. If the first, what were they doing in the forest? If the second, who was in the forest that night?</p><p>And then there is the small matter of the potions ingredients that Tony bought - aconite, billywig stings, newt tails, juniper, hellebore syrup. They’re all fairly innocuous potions ingredients, she reasons; there’s hardly any hidden meaning to Tony Stark buying a bunch of common potions ingredients on a Saturday afternoon. But they all happen to be ingredients in a very specific potion. The same very specific potion is related to the rumours that Rollins and Rumlow are mongering.</p><p>It’s times like these that Natasha wishes that she hadn’t taken to Grandfather’s training quite so well; that she’d been less observant; that she’d been less logical, less tactically inclined. (<em>There’s a reason you were his favourite grandchild</em>, a little voice in her hisses. <em>It’s also the reason you’re prized at MACUSA, </em>another voice counters.) She’ll believe it when she sees it, she decides. No point jumping to conclusions now, anyway.</p><p>She is so engrossed in this train of thought that she doesn’t notice Clint settling into his seat opposite her, having just come from Muggle Studies.</p><p>“You’ve got something on your mind,” Clint notes, setting his bag down on the empty seat next to the chair that he’s just pulled out for himself. He whips out his quill, ink pot, and fresh parchment.</p><p>“I always do,” Natasha smiles wryly. Just as she’s about to ask him about Professor Logan’s Herbology assignment, there is movement in her peripheral vision. Fury is lurking in the shadows under the guise of browsing the DADA section, waiting to be noticed.</p><p>If Clint thinks it’s weird that Professor Fury is trawling the library shelves himself and just coincidentally happens to bump into Natasha and Clint in their favourite corner while they’re finishing homework on Wednesday afternoon, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he makes an excuse to go browse for books (“<em>I’m going to get a jumpstart on my History of Magic essay; be right back,</em>” he’d said) so he doesn’t have to spend more time with Fury than he has to.</p><p>“Good boy, that Barton,” Fury comments gruffly, sliding into Clint’s newly vacated seat. He eyes the empty scroll of parchment in front of him sceptically. “Remind me again why you never dated him?”</p><p>“You threatened to sic Goose on his dismembered body if he did anything funny with me, if I recall,” Natasha deadpans. The corner of Fury’s lip threatens to twitch, just the slightest bit.</p><p>“Speaking of Goose,” Fury begins. Natasha raises a manicured eyebrow. She hasn’t seen her cat since yesterday morning when she left for Arithmancy. “Why is she hitching rides into Ilvermorny on the produce cart from the Village?”</p><p>Natasha hopes her face conveys how confused she is. She’s been working on her expressiveness. It’s just as well Fury is a Legilimens, she supposes.</p><p>He continues, “she was the only thing on the cart. Apparently she swallowed all of next week’s produce and then vomited it back up.”</p><p>Natasha makes a mental note to eat as many of her meals in the Village next week as possible. She comments dryly, “I hope the kitchens find some use for Flerken vomit, then.” A beat in the conversation. There’s another reason he’s here. She sees it in his one-eyed gaze. “You didn’t come here to tell me about Goose.”</p><p>Fury flicks his wand, and the room falls entirely silent. Natasha realises that this is just the effect of the Cone of Silence Spell Fury’s just cast. Steps away, someone is stacking books and she can’t hear a thing.</p><p>“There’s been another Dark Energy spike in the Village since this weekend,” Fury says, leaning back in his chair leisurely. “The Aurors have been in the Village this week.”</p><p>“Shouldn’t they be?” She asks, crossing her arms. His stony silence and eyelid twitch say it all. Interesting, she thinks. Something’s bothering him beyond the fact that he was forced to schmooze with his ex-colleagues, but Natasha doesn’t acknowledge any of this aloud. Instead, she waits patiently for the other shoe to drop.</p><p>It doesn’t.</p><p>“Just thought you ought to know,” he says, standing up and pats her shoulder, disappearing as discreetly as he’d arrived. The Cone of Silence Spell gets lifted as he leaves.</p><p>Natasha notices that he’s taken the opportunity to leave her a small phial clipped to the collar of her shirt to attach to her Ampliphial - a Dark Sensor of Fury’s own design - as he patted her shoulder. The gold coin stays suspended in the centre of the phial as she slides it into her robes quickly; she’ll have a closer look at it later.</p><p>Natasha is usually good at reading between the lines, but right now all that this means is that there’s something Fury knows that she doesn’t that worries him, and she can’t give voice to that worry because… what? Before she can follow that particular train of thought any further, Clint returns with a few books, clearly having seen Fury leave.</p><p>“That’s gonna be a long essay,” she observes. If she notices <em>Maledictuses of Europe</em> and <em>The History of Blood Curses</em> tucked in among the titles Clint has just set on the table, she doesn’t say anything about it.</p><p>“Yeah.” He nods in the direction of the exit. “What that was about?”</p><p>“He wanted to tell me what Goose was up to,” she says. This is technically not a lie, but Clint knows as well as she does that Fury doesn’t make library visits for that sort of thing. He lets it slide anyway, and they settle into a comfortable silence.</p><p>This is just how their friendship works.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll never guess what I heard,” Maria said, sliding into her seat at Thursday breakfast.</p><p>“Some inane piece of gossip?” Pepper asks, idly turning the pages of the Magister Times. “We have other things to worry about.”</p><p>“Like what?” Clint finishes his eggs and reaches for a piece of toast.</p><p>“It’s an election year,” Pepper says mildly. </p><p>Maria waves her hand dismissively. “Same party line, different person.”</p><p>“As opposed to gossip, which changes every week?”</p><p>“Well, you’ll want to hear this. Bobbi and Lance Hunter broke up,” Maria whispers conspiratorially. Pepper rolls her eyes and goes back to the paper.</p><p>“Old news,” Clint scoops marmalade from the jar in front of him.</p><p>“Rumour has it that Bobbi has set her sights on Clint.” Maria reaches across the table for the coffee pot and toast. “You heard that part too?”</p><p>“Wait, you mean that’s true?” He pauses in the middle of smothering his toast, his knife poised in mid-air. Clint knows his crush on Bobbi the last few years weren’t particularly well concealed, but… “I thought Barnes was just jerking me around.”</p><p>“Are you kidding? Hunter’s fuming. Won’t shut up about it. Pass the butter, will you?” Maria beckons in the direction of the butter dish. Clint obliges.</p><p>He sets his knife down and takes a big bite of his toast. Pepper makes a disgusted face at the orange jam that oozes onto his fingers - he’s a messy eater, so what? - and Clint continues, “She’s had the past two years to dump him. So why me? Why now?”</p><p>“You grew a spine this year. Backbones are hot.” Maria picks at the contents of the jam jar in front of her.</p><p>Well, that’s insulting, Clint thinks. He’s always had a backbone, and he voices this very thought aloud.</p><p>“Not until this year, you didn’t.”</p><p>“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” he says sarcastically.</p><p>“Well, hey, something must be working for you this year,” Maria shrugs. </p><p>“What’s working for him this year?” Natasha asks, dropping into the empty spot next to Pepper and pouring herself a mug of tea.</p><p>“His backbone,” Maria says.</p><p>“He’s always had one,” Natasha says easily, picking up a piece of toast and sniffing it cautiously. “Does our bread come from Greylock?”</p><p>“It’s not poisoned,” Maria says, at the same time that Clint points in Tasha’s direction with a “thank you, I knew you’d have my back.”</p><p>Natasha forgoes the toast and looks at him for the first time this morning. Her shoulders fall. “Oh, come on, it’s not even laundry day yet.”</p><p>“What’s not-” he glances down at the front of his sweater. “Oh, man,” he exclaims, dismayed. This must have been the source of Pepper’s disgust. “Tash, can you-”</p><p>With a silent twitch of her wand, the marmalade stain disappears from the front of his cranberry-coloured knit sweater. The sweater becomes pristine again, as though he had never dripped marmalade onto it in the first place. Clint’s own attempts at the spell, as he’d learned helping Laura clean up after her horses over the summer, have often produced imperfectly charming results. Laura had seemed to find his dismal attempts to help unmuck the stalls funny though, so all was not lost. He hopes his letter has reached her by now.</p><p>“Never understood how you mastered that spell, you neat freak,” Pepper says admiringly, offering her the newspaper. “The Magister Times?”</p><p>“Thanks. Anything interesting?” Natasha accepts the paper and shakes it open, just as Pepper says, “see for yourself.”</p><p>The front page faces Clint for the first time that morning: <em>MAGISTER EXCLUSIVE: CONGRESSMAN STERN CLAIMS “DARK ENERGY IS EXECUTIVE CONSPIRACY</em>”, PAGES 2 - 4</p><p>“Huh. That’s rich, coming from him.” Maria comments darkly, her brows furrowing. This strikes Clint as odd. She beckons at the paper with a slender finger. “Read it?” This request is odder still. It’s very unlike Maria to get concerned about political ballyhoo; usually Maria sails above it all during an election year.</p><p>Oddest of all, it seems, is the look Natasha gives Maria - like she’s just figured something out - before she starts reading bits of the article aloud.</p><p>“‘<em>…Congressman Stern’s office has released a statement suggesting that the Dark Energy is the by-product of MACUSA Department of Mysteries…</em>’ blah blah blah, irrelevant…‘<em>The statement released by Congressman Stern is of the view that MACUSA is complicit in the plague that is now ailing the land… these allegations have yet to be confirmed by other sources…</em>’ , followed by the usual disclaimers that the Magister Times will follow up as more information becomes known.” Natasha parses the rest of the article with some scepticism. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”</p><p>Pepper seems to think this is mere political jockeying, and Clint’s not usually one to follow the news or form an opinion on it, but it seems worrying enough that it’s got both Maria and Natasha’s attention. “Do you think there’s any truth to it?”</p><p>“Maybe,” Maria says. He would have bought it, too, except that he knows his best friends, and the look that they exchange - while Pepper is still perfectly oblivious - makes him think there’s more to the story than they’re letting on.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Natasha is reminded how much she hates responsibility when the issue of the Yule Ball is brought up at her first proper Prefects’ meeting on Friday evening. Student Body President James Rhodes paces in front of a roaring fire and a blackboard at the front of the Prefects’ Common Room, where they’re all sprawled out in various armchairs and beanbags. She catches Pepper’s eye from where she’s perched on the wide cushy armrest of a low-set suede armchair and smiles. Pepper really is in her element here, seated to the left of the pacing Rhodes.</p><p>It’s an interesting mix of people, she’ll admit. The people in the room are a testament to what the various Heads of House value in their students: May’s picks are as tough and enigmatic as Erskine’s picks are upright and reliable.</p><p>Rhodes has got the words “YULE BALL” on the blackboard, so it’s a safe bet that Natasha can tune out for the rest of the meeting.</p><p>“The Yule Ball is less than two months away,” he begins.</p><p>Colleen Wing, her Wampus senior, who is perched on the other armrest of the armchair, meets Natasha’s gaze and rolls her eyes. Natasha stifles a laugh. At least she’s not the only one who thinks this is absurd.</p><p>“Rhodes,” M’Baku pipes up from a cushy beanbag at their feet, “Halloween isn’t even over yet.”</p><p>Natasha wants to hi-five him for that comment, but he’s too far away and she’s too comfortable where she is to move.</p><p>“Professor Van Dyne wants us to submit a budget proposal to her by the end of the month,” Pepper points out, where she has a clipboard and a Quick Quotes Quill hovering beside her. Natasha has had her doubt about those things ever since she read about Rita Skeeter and the Quick Quotes Debacle of 1994, so she keeps a sceptical eye on it.</p><p>There is some grumbling in the room. “Why does she want it so early?” Claire Temple asks, where she’s wedged in - uncomfortably, it seems - between Fandral and Steve Rogers.</p><p>“You should know the answer to that by now,” Okoye points out, sharing a commiserating look with T’Challa. (The rumours relating to Professor Van Dyne running a tight ship with the Prefectorial Board, it seems, are true.)</p><p>“Yes, well, Halloween is in two weeks and then Yuletide begins in earnest,” Pepper says. “We need to figure out what we want to do before Professor Van Dyne will let us requisition it.”</p><p>“Sorry, when is it, again?” Scott Summers, lounging on a chaise, raises a hand.</p><p>“It is always the second last Saturday before term breaks,” Valkyrie says, throwing him a derisive look. “How do you not know this?”</p><p>As she says this, Bruce Banner counts off on his fingers the days to the Yule Ball. His face falls, and Natasha swears on Grandfather’s grave that he’s just muttered the words ‘<em>full moon’</em> to himself, unnoticed by everyone who is still bantering about Summers’ obliviousness. A lightbulb clicks on inside Natasha’s head. <em>Interesting.</em></p><p>Colleen flicks Natasha’s robes to get her attention. “How much do you wanna bet that we get stuck with the decorations again this year?”</p><p>“No bet,” Natasha murmurs back, not taking her eye off Banner. It’s common knowledge that the decorations are taken care of by the Wampus prefects every year. Why should this year be any different?</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>Natasha is bemused by Colleen’s pronouncement. “Why, you got ideas?”</p><p>“Swords,” Colleen says, with an expression so serious Natasha almost believes her even though she knows Colleen would never impose her love of swords on the decor committee like that. “Hanging from the ceiling precariously.”</p><p>“Find some, let’s make it happen.” Natasha’s gaze swings back to the acid-green quill, which, despite all the talking this evening, hasn’t twitched an inch. Natasha is impressed. She supposes, then, that the ability of the quill to write bullshit is directly correlated to the stupidity of its wielder.</p><p>When the quill does finally start flying across the parchment, the conversation has turned to the assignment of subcommittees which – surprise, surprise - are not split by house this year.</p><p>“I don’t see why we have to shoehorn Helen into food if maybe she wants to do entertainment, or Steve into clean up if he wants to do decorations. We should play to our strengths.”</p><p>“In other words, Pukwudgie doesn’t want to do clean up anymore,” Okoye surmises wryly. “I don’t blame you. I’ll do it. I don’t mind.”</p><p>“Me too,” T’Challa says, from the pile of cushions he’s made his seat for the evening.</p><p>“Actually, I don’t mind clean up, either,” Fandral says.</p><p>“There you go,” Pepper claps her hands, pleased.</p><p>Colleen ends up putting her name down for entertainment, so Natasha finds herself with Bruce, Valkyrie, and Pepper on the decorations committee.</p><p>The good thing about being on a committee with both Valkyrie and Pepper is that between the two of them, they’ve both got ideas on how to decorate the gym, so all Natasha needs to do is carry out what they both agree on. The bad thing about being on a committee with both Pepper and Valkyrie is that they both immediately nix the idea of suspending swords (or blades of any kind) from the ceiling.</p><p>All things considered, though, it could be worse.</p><p>“Hey,” she says, catching Bruce on their way out of the Prefects common room. “How did that bubotuber pus experiment end up going?”</p><p>Bruce jumps about a foot in the air. “Uh,” his eyes dart over to the staircase like he can’t wait to get away from her. “It went okay. Tony ended up buying me a new cauldron,” he adds sheepishly. Natasha gets the feeling that it’s a half-truth, but she lets it slide.</p><p>“When’s your next Potions bros hang out session? Maybe I’ll swing by. I’ve got some theories on how you can improve the Wolfsbane potion.” She slips this in so casually that Bruce does a double-take.</p><p>Glancing around at corridor, the only other people are those who are slowly trickling from the Prefects’ common room. “You know?”</p><p>“Know what?” Natasha knows she’s got her guileless expression down pat. Six years with Fury’s taught her to perfect it. But Bruce looks so much like he might actually shit himself that she decides to tone her interrogation down a little - just enough for him to get some breathing room.</p><p>“I saw Tony buy the ingredients this week at Four Clovers,” she continues. “So I assume that’s on the Potions bros agenda this week.”</p><p>“Oh,” Bruce blinks rapidly. “Yeah, it is.”</p><p>“So, when should I swing by? I’ve got some ideas.”</p><p>“Uh…”</p><p>“Yo, Banner! Just the man I wanted to see!” Lance Hunter jogs up to them. He nods perfunctorily at Natasha. “Romanoff.”</p><p>“Hunter.”</p><p>“Listen, can I borrow Banner for a sec? I need to ask a little favour…”</p><p>Bruce looks so relieved to be away from Natasha that he practically lets himself get led away, but not before he throws out a hasty, “um, we can pick this up another time?”</p><p>“Sure,” Natasha chuckles inwardly. Their conversation echoes in the hallway as she turns the corner into the South wing of the castle and begins to make her way up the stairs.</p><p>
  <em>“So, I need you to do me a solid…” </em>
</p><p>She shakes her head. Someone should really tell Hunter about <em>Muffliato</em>.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>When Tony makes his way down to the Dining Hall on Sunday morning, the first thing he sees is Bobbi Morse in her Quidditch robes, chewing Lance Hunter out - very loudly - in full view of the entire student population.</p><p>This is nothing new; everyone in school by now has heard about Bobbi Morse and Lance Hunter’s break up. By the time he pushes past the crowd to the Dining Hall, he notices Clint Barton - also in his Quidditch robes - nursing a slightly swollen jaw and a bruised cheek.</p><p>Pepper is dabbing at Barton’s bruised cheek, a wound that looks older than it should. Tony approaches with a slight grimace - mostly because Pepper is tending to someone else’s wounds other than his - but also because Barton looks like he’s been in a fight and lost. Ah, that must be why Morse is giving Hunter an earful. Tony decides to ask anyway, to be polite.</p><p>“Whoa, what happened to you?”</p><p>“That asshat Lance Hunter jumped me on my way out of the locker room,” Clint Barton grouses. “In the dark, and from behind, like a coward.”</p><p>“Wait, you mean there’s truth to that rumour?” Tony asks. If anyone notices that he’s slid into the seat directly opposite Pepper, no one says anything.</p><p>“Not you, too,” Barton sighs.</p><p>“So there’s no truth to that rumour?”</p><p>“None.”</p><p>Tony wants to press, but Pepper shoots him a look that shuts him up almost immediately. Contrite, he opens his robe pocket. He rummages around until he finds what he’s looking for: a foul-smelling concoction for bruises and burns. “Here. Bruce and I always get injured testing potions. Works great on our injuries.”</p><p>Pepper manages a smile and takes the tub of cream from him. They wince as the smell wafts out of the little tub.</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>“The smell-” Pepper begins dabbing it onto Barton’s face, and she looks like she’s trying very hard not to breathe.</p><p>“I tried,” Tony says. “It works best like this.”</p><p>“Urgh, I think you might have just put everyone off breakfast.” Romanoff appears behind him suddenly, startling Tony and causing him to bang his knee against the table. Fuck, that really hurt. How the heck did she even get there?</p><p>“One day you’re going to give someone a heart attack,” Tony wheezes through his pain, his eyes watering slightly.</p><p>“As long as it’s the right person,” Romanoff says to Tony dryly, settling next to him, running a hand through her wet auburn hair. “How come you’ve decided to grace us with your presence this morning?”</p><p>“Offering my services,” Tony says. He beckons for Pepper to pass him the cream, while he begins rolling up his slacks. He scoops some out of the tub quickly and closes the lid.</p><p>“Potions bro,” Barton says at the same time, by way of explanation.</p><p>Romanoff picks up the tub lying on the table. “You made this yourself?”</p><p>“Yup.” He watches the bruise fade completely from his skin, pleased.</p><p>“Imagine if you and Banner sold this. You’d make a fortune.”</p><p>When he looks up, Romanoff is watching him carefully. While Romanoff looks - dare he say it? - vaguely impressed, there also is something knowing in her gaze - not outright accusatory, but a small kind of satisfaction of being in on a secret - that tells him she knows he knows about what she said to Bruce on Friday night. Not for the first time, Tony gets the feeling that his cranium might actually be transparent. Romanoff is onto them like a Dementor on a pair of human souls.</p><p>So Tony sinks his teeth into the nearest edible thing at the table - an apple danish - to avoid talking to her any more than he has to.</p><p>As soon as he bites into it, he realises something’s off about the danish. Like it’s more sour than usual, somehow.</p><p>“What, you just had a revelation, Stark?” Barton asks - rather ungratefully, Tony thinks - while Tony stares at the half-eaten pastry in his hand.</p><p>“Is it just me, or does the pastry seem off to you this morning?”</p><p>Beside him, Romanoff smirks and takes a big sip of her tea. “I don’t know, I’m on a crash diet.”</p><p>Across from the table, Barton makes a sound of disbelief. Pepper’s eyes narrow at Romanoff. “You’re starving yourself?”</p><p>“Gotta look my best for the Yule Ball,” Romanoff shrugs guilelessly, taking another gulp of her tea. Tony doesn’t understand the female psyche, and neither will he ever purport to understand it.</p><p>“Also, a Flerken got into the produce cart.”</p><p>Even though Tony knows that Flerkens are rare and highly regulated animals, not to mention that their vomit is highly prized as an experimental Potions ingredient - and therefore it is very likely she’s yanking his chain - Romanoff says it with such a straight face that Tony Vanishes the danish he’s holding.</p><p>Barton, the thankless wretch, cackles.</p><p>“Hey,” someone says from behind him. Tony twists in his seat. More drama. Excellent.</p><p>“I’m so sorry about what Lance did to you,” Bobbi Morse begins. “I didn’t-</p><p>“Not your fault,” Barton says, holding up a hand. “You weren’t the one who punched me. Thanks, though, Bobbi. I appreciate it.”</p><p>Morse peers at his face. “You’re looking much better.”</p><p>“We’re Wizards. We have magic,” Tony chirps sarcastically. Morse nods apologetically, her fingers wringing the hem of her sky blue sweater. “Sorry. Really.”</p><p>“Interesting,” Tony muses aloud. Pepper pokes him with her wand. “Ow!”</p><p>“For God’s sake, Tony,” she hisses.</p><p>As Morse turns to go, Natasha Romanoff rises from her seat to follow her. “Where is he?”</p><p>“That’s ominous,” Tony comments, earning himself another jab from Pepper’s wand.</p><p>“Outside, I guess,” Morse says uncertainly, ignoring him. “But I wouldn’t-”</p><p>“I can handle myself,” Romanoff interrupts her.</p><p>“Tash…” Barton begins. “Don’t be getting detention on my account.”</p><p>Romanoff scoffs in response, swinging her denim clad legs over the bench. “Like I’ll get caught.” Morse follows behind, just in case Romanoff is about to actually do mortal harm to Hunter.</p><p>“Doesn’t it bother you that she’s defending your honour?” Tony points his thumb in the direction of the entryway.</p><p>Barton raises his eyebrows. “Weren’t you just threatening to hex Betty Ross on Banner’s account last week?”</p><p>Tony can’t deny that, but he wonders who told Barton. “True.”</p><p>“Speaking of which, where is he? Aren’t you two joined at the hip?”</p><p>“He’s around,” Tony says blithely. And by around, he means in the Potions classroom working on their latest tweaks to the Wolfsbane potion.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Bucky Barnes is awake and sprawled out in front of the dying fire in the Wampus common room when Natasha descends the stairs on Monday morning, ready to tackle that particular train of thought she left unfinished early last week. She pads across the carpeted floor silently, but that’s of little use when she’s in his direct line of sight and there are copious cans of Awakening Sodas - “<em>get a little boost!</em>” - littered around him.</p><p>“What are you doing up so early?” he rubs sleep from his eyes and ink onto his face.</p><p>“Off to play Swivenhodge with Maria,” she lies, thankful that she had the sense to dress like she was going out for exercise. She wonders if No-Majs ever exercise in fifty degree weather like this. “What are you doing up?”</p><p>“Never went to bed,” he mumbles, swilling from a can in his hand. “I just finished my Transfiguration essay.”</p><p>Natasha checks her watch. It’s exactly six. Perfect. The portrait doors should have unsealed themselves. “You should sleep. You’ll get three hours before class,” she pats him on the shoulder consolingly. He grunts in response, and she makes for the door before he decides to invite himself to a Swivenhodge game that doesn’t exist. She’s glad Bucky’s sleep-addled, because the sun doesn’t rise for another three hours, and Bucky would know that there’s no way to play Swivenhodge in the dark.</p><p>The silent stalk down the stoned hallways and staircases are a honing exercise for Natasha. Madame B - always Madame B, never Aunt Varvara - insisted that she learn, without magic, how to keep her tread light, movements precise, and ears open. The Red Room’s walls and stone floors made for excellent practice then, as do Ilvermorny’s well-worn hallways now.</p><p>Natasha hears Maria’s scuffed shoes echo in the stairwell before the girl herself makes an appearance. Natasha is very conscious that her footsteps are completely inaudible, while Maria’s steps serve to highlight to whoever is listening that they are leaving the castle. <em>Never let me catch you with such sloppy footwork, Natalia,</em> Natasha’s inner critic chimes in.</p><p>At the very least - and not to offend Natasha’s Madame B-infused sensibilities - Maria doesn’t say anything until they’re outside the castle.</p><p>“First Portkey’s for 2045 on Sunday night,” Maria begins quietly as they pad down the steps leading to the castle grounds.</p><p>“This weekend?” Natasha asks in confirmation. Maria nods. Natasha’s on patrol duty this weekend with Scott Summers, but she could probably swop patrols with Pepper or Colleen if she asked nicely.</p><p>It’s too early for frost, but the wind is chilly. They pause where sliver of light from within the castle ends at Maria’s behest, and it takes Natasha a split second to realise that Maria is looking for her wand.</p><p><em>Open your ears, </em>Natasha’s inner voice urges. This voice is starting to sound an awful lot like Madame B.</p><p>Natasha conjures fire in her palm before Maria can say ‘<em>lumos’</em>. <em>Take that, Madame B.</em> Maria blinks rapidly in the sudden light, but they start moving again. Natasha doesn’t say anything until they’ve made their way past the greenhouses and their voices are well-disguised by the morning lakeside breeze whipping through their hair. “Where’s it going?”</p><p>“DC.”</p><p>They pause, and begin walking towards the lake’s inlet - not that they’ll ever get beyond Ilvermorny’s boundaries - that empties into the North Atlantic. Natasha’s memorised the list of locations and statistics Fury gave her. DC’s the third city since early September to record Dark Energy activity. Third, not first or last. Not nearest or furthest. There’s a reason Fury’s sending them there.</p><p>“Uninvestigated spikes?” Natasha guesses.</p><p>“Surprisingly big ones, yes.”</p><p>Maria might be a natural Occlumens, but it doesn’t mean Natasha can’t play a game of 20 questions to figure out what Fury’s trying to keep from her. “Do we think it’s related to the information he doesn’t want you to tell me?”</p><p>“Following up on a hunch,” Maria says, which is neither a confirmation nor a denial. It’s interesting, Natasha notes, that neither of them have talked about or questioned why Fury’s asking a bunch of sixteen and seventeen year olds to undertake dangerous missions and keeping them quiet. Natasha has her own thoughts about that based on a few things; Maria’s response to Stern’s bullshit, for one.</p><p>“Your hunch?”</p><p>A scoff. “God, no.” A Fury hunch, then.</p><p>Natasha hums in acknowledgement. “So where do I meet you?”</p><p>“Rambeau’s meeting me there.” A beat passes before she adds, “return Portkey’s for 0115. Fury said you’re patrolling?”</p><p>Natasha recognises when she’s been put on guard dog duty.</p><p>“I’m going to stash a broom in the Quidditch shed,” Maria continues.</p><p>Natasha agrees. Broom is her preferred method of sneaking out, too.</p><p>“I used the seventh-floor window by the statue of Porpentina Goldstein the last time.” It’s not the best suggestion, she knows; the window is small, and the statue of Porpentina is nowhere near the Thunderbird dormitory entrances.</p><p>Maria visibly baulks at this. “I’ll find another window in the East Wing.”</p><p>Natasha nods.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“Hurry up,” Bucky says, gesturing at them furiously from outside the locker room. “Gates to the village close in an hour.”</p><p>“It’s not our fault practice ran overtime,” Sam snaps, pulling on his cloak furiously. Steve’s hair is still wet from washing his hair in the locker room sink, and in the cold, his head’s definitely going to freeze. He waves his wand through his hair, siphoning as much water from it as he can, and idly wonders what he’d look like with a buzzcut like Sam’s. His father might approve, but his mother would almost certainly have a fit.</p><p>“Yo, James Dean,” Bucky calls impatiently. “You coming or what?”</p><p>Steve hurriedly jams a beanie onto his head and follows his friends out of the castle grounds. The air is cold, but lights emanating from Greylock Village are warm and welcoming. They make for their usual spot at Rae’s, only to find it taken by Professor Schmidt, a seventh-year boy from Horned Serpent with a European accent, and an older man - who looks vaguely familiar but Steve can’t quite place him - talking in low murmurs.</p><p>“Sorry,” Rae nods at their usual table as the little doorbell jingles hello at them. “They just got here.”</p><p>“That’s okay,” Sam says quickly, before Bucky can blow up in a bout of hunger-induced anger, “we can sit in the back.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll send the quill right over,” Rae says amiably. “You boys just sit yourselves in.”</p><p>Bucky grumbles a little as he settles into the table in the back right next to the kitchen door, and the table expands magically for them. There’s no need to flip through the menu - they’ve been here enough times in the last year to know what’s on offer on Tuesday nights - so when Bucky idly flips through the menu that’s just appeared on the table, Steve knows he’s annoyed. “So… why did practice run over time?”</p><p>Steve and Sam exchange a look. Yup, Bucky’s definitely annoyed.</p><p>There are a lot of reasons, the first and primary one being that Sam had been very good at predicting where Steve would end up tossing the Quaffle, which had resulted in another round of plays making sure Steve could get the Quaffle past Sam. Sam was irate, of course, because it was hardly his fault Steve couldn’t put a Quaffle past him. In fact, Steve mused, Sam had been getting punished unnecessarily for doing his job right. Sharon should’ve known better than to get Steve to take the last shot at the hoops. He supposed it might be different if it wasn’t Sam playing Keeper, but then again, he thinks Rhodey - they’re playing Horned Serpent right after Halloween in the first game of the season - might be harder to shoot a Quaffle past than Sam. Steve cringes inwardly at that thought.</p><p>When Sam decides to explain, though, he leaves this out altogether and goes for the secondary reason: the other new Chaser, Scott Lang, had developed a bad case of butterfingers halfway through practice, causing Sharon to insist that they run their plays over and over again.</p><p>Bucky lets out a low whistle at this, his annoyance abating. “Yeah, I’d hate that if it happened to me, too. Lang was always a little bit of a klutz, though.”</p><p>As promised, Rae’s floating notepad and quill swing by their table to take their orders.</p><p>The notepad flips through its pages quickly and makes a gesture Steve thinks might be a wink, if paper could actually wink. “The usual, boys?”</p><p>“Yup,” Bucky nods, checking with Steve that this is okay. Sam says, “I’ll add a side of bacon to my usual order.”</p><p>Once the notepad and quill are gone, Bucky nods at their usual table, where the seventh-year and the two men appear to be having a very serious conversation now that the menus are no longer on the table.</p><p>“What do you think they’re talking about?”</p><p>“Job interview?” Sam guesses.</p><p>“Interview?” Steve echoes.</p><p>“What else would Vice-President Pierce be doing at Greylock Village on a week like this?” Sam whispers conspiratorially, tipping his chin at the table. (Ah, so that’s who the other man was.) “There are probably a few MACUSA Aurors around the village here for his protection. Don’t make it obvious, but…”</p><p>Sam subtly indicates a man with narrow glasses perched on a pale sharp nose sitting at the bar, discreetly keeping an eye on the table by the window.</p><p>“Wow,” Steve mutters back, eying the seventh-year boy with something that feels a little like awe. He wonders what it must be like to be an aide to the Vice-President of MACUSA, to even be interviewed for the chance.</p><p>Bucky chuckles. “Stevie’s having a patriotic wet dream. Serving his country and saving lives while doing it. How much would you pay to be on that security detail?”</p><p>Bucky’s not far off the mark, but Steve takes issue with how crudely phrased it sounds. He tsks at Bucky. “Language.”</p><p>Bucky makes a face in response.</p><p>“You’d have to be some kind of superstar to work in the Woolworth Penthouse,” Steve adds, after as plates zoom past them. Bucky stares after a plate carrying a rack of short ribs longingly as it settles where Stark and Banner - whose goblet is faintly emitting blue steam, it seems - are having dinner a few tables away.</p><p>“You know, I always thought Zola was a Gringotts Cursebreaker type of guy,” Sam shrugs. Steve thinks back to the careers pamphlets they’d been handed last year, and vaguely recalls that the Gringotts pamphlet had - rather gaudily - featured a goblin and an Indiana Jones-looking wizard standing atop a pile of gold.</p><p>“Adventure? And that guy?” Bucky asks dubiously, eying Zola’s glasses and his slightly pudgy frame. “You sure about that?”</p><p>“Okay, fine,” Sam concedes. “Maybe he doesn’t look like he’d be a Cursebreaker, but I always thought his skill set was more Gringotts than MACUSA.”</p><p>“What, just because he won the Gobbledegook book prize last year?” Bucky asks.</p><p>“He did?” Sam sounds surprised.</p><p>“Well, what were you thinking of?”</p><p>“The Arithmancy book prize.”</p><p>Bucky lets out a low whistle of appreciation. Steve doesn’t take either subject so he can’t appreciate this feat properly, but the fact that this kid Zola’s got two book prizes probably indicates that he’s exactly the kind of superstar Vice President Pierce is looking for.</p><p>Just then, their food arrives, which cuts off any and all further thought they might have had in relation to Zola and his academic achievements. Dinner is a rushed affair, with Steve reminding his friends that they have just about half an hour to get back to the castle before the castle gates close for the next few days.</p><p>As they pass the now-empty table where Vice-President Pierce had been on their way out, Steve’s mind drifts off, wondering just how much work he’d need to put into his studies to get a book prize of any sort this year. He’d gotten two Outstanding OWLs, nothing to shout home about; Sam had gotten the same, and Bucky had just the one. All the same, if he’s gunning for a book prize, Creature Care is probably his best bet. He’d come in second in the subject last year, being narrowly beaten out by Helen Cho. Sam pushes the door to Rae’s open, and the cold air that hits them is an open slap to his face, jolting Steve back to reality.</p><p>There is a glint of gold by the stoop of Rae’s that Steve dismisses as a trick of the light on a puddle, but Bucky’s gleeful exclamation suggests otherwise.</p><p>“Hey, look, a Galleon!” </p><p>“Wait, what if it’s cursed?”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous.”</p><p>“No, you don’t be ridiculous,” Sam insists. “Who drops a whole Galleon and doesn’t notice?”</p><p>His friends bicker about the dropped Galleon, which ordinarily would have been hilarious, but Steve is momentarily distracted by a familiar ginger cat with a black collar and a tiny bell stalking across the sidewalk towards him. He swears the cat is giving him - them - the evil eye.</p><p>Steve tunes back into the bickering to catch the end of it.</p><p>“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sam practically shouts, as Bucky bends down to pick the Galleon up gingerly between his scarved hands.</p><p>“It’s a lot of money, alright, Sam, not everyone is the only child at home-”</p><p>“Mrrow,” the cat interrupts loudly.</p><p>Startled, Bucky drops the coin that he’s just picked up, which rolls into the street. Steve had been on Sam’s side of the argument moments earlier, but now that the Galleon’s been in Bucky’s hand, he feels less inclined to believe that it’s dangerous.</p><p>“What’s Romanoff’s cat doing here in the village?” Sam frowns curiously at the feline, which is now slinking away with an air of being extremely pleased with itself, as though the only reason it meowed was to get Bucky to drop the coin. He glances around for the cat’s owner. “You don’t think she’s around here, do you?”</p><p>Steve shrugs. He’s more concerned about getting back to the castle grounds in the next ten minutes. Bucky is still looking around for that elusive glint of gold.</p><p>“Aw man, where’s the Galleon gone?”</p><p>“Give it up, Buck,” Steve groans, as he and Sam practically shove Bucky along.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>The Potions classroom is already heavy with blue smoke when Tony and Bruce skid in after a rushed dinner with an armful of books and various scribbled hypotheses on slips of parchment tucked in between pages.</p><p>“Drink this first,” Professor Pym shoves a smoking goblet at Bruce. “Experiment later.”</p><p>“Is it that time of the month already?” Tony jokes. Bruce gives him an unappreciative glare.</p><p>“Yup,” Professor Pym says, not catching the joke. He points at the goblet. “Drink, Banner.”</p><p>Bruce chokes down the concoction and wipes his mouth on his robe sleeve. “Never gets any less disgusting.”</p><p>“Necessary evil,” Tony says blithely, taking the empty goblet from him. “Now, I’ve come up with some ideas for enhancing the humanising effect of the potion.”</p><p>He flips the topmost textbook open.</p><p>“I was thinking that maybe we need to approach this from a different angle,” Tony suggests. “Instead of addressing the transformative potential of lycanthropy, we address the physical faculties of the transformed lycanthrope…”</p><p>“…isn’t that what it already does?” Bruce looks vaguely annoyed.</p><p>“No, the Wolfsbane Potion only addresses the mental faculties of the werewolf. Don’t get me wrong,” Tony says, pacing in front of the array of ingredients they’re testing, “but wouldn’t it be amazing if you could keep the strength and power of the werewolf while remaining human?”</p><p>“That is a very interesting proposition,” Professor Pym strokes his bristly beard thoughtfully. “Let’s have a think about what we would need to retain lycan strength in a humanoid form.”</p><p>“The full moon is in five days,” Bruce mumbles.</p><p>“But that’s the beauty of your condition,” Tony exclaims, earning a thump on the back of his head with a sheaf of parchment from Professor Pym. “I mean,” he hastily amends, “that as long as you keep transforming, we will have time to perfect it.”</p><p>“As long as I don’t die first,” Bruce mutters under his breath. More loudly, he says, “At the rate we’re going, there’s a good chance we might end up creating a poison of some sort.”</p><p>“Do you think Professor Erskine would be able to get us some animals to test on?” Tony asks.</p><p>Bruce laughs darkly. “Are you trying to kill your chances with Pepper permanently?”</p><p>“She knows I tested that smelly cream on rabbits.”</p><p>Professor Pym claps his hand over his ears. “Unless you had a MACUSA permit for testing on No-Maj animals, I don’t want to hear another word of this, Mr Stark.”</p><p>“We agreed to disagree on animal testing,” Tony ploughs on, as though Professor Pym hadn’t said a thing.</p><p>Bruce’s expression becomes thoughtful, and he turns to their professor. “But say we get MACUSA permits for testing.”</p><p>The old man inclines his head. “Yes…and?”</p><p>“If we got the permits, do you think Professor Erskine could help us source physiologically similar creatures?”</p><p>“Permits are a lot of paperwork,” Professor Pym demurs.</p><p>“I could persuade my dad to fund clinical trials,” Tony muses. “I’m sure there are many people who are willing to give it a shot.”</p><p>“No one’s going to come forward,” Bruce shakes his head. “It’s bad enough there’s a Werewolf Register. Having a clinical trial is like…”</p><p>“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, boys,” Professor Pym says. “We need to first make something that doesn’t render the potion ineffective.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Natasha and Scott Summers get along well enough; their only interactions came about when he and Maria had that brief flirtation back when they were in fourth year (and he was in fifth year). While nothing substantial ever came of that flirtation, she and Scott have maintained a cordial relationship since.</p><p>Natasha has always known that Scott Summers is not particularly verbose, but last night’s conversation with Scott consisted mostly of grunts of acknowledgement when the other suggested a route, which left her plenty of time to contemplate her current circumstances.</p><p>She’s sorted through her thoughts on the werewolf situation, and she’s fairly convinced that one of the Potions Bros is the werewolf in question. It would almost certainly explain why Tony bought the ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion in bulk a couple of weeks ago. She doesn’t blame him for being upset or touchy about the rumour mongering; in fact, she feels quite the converse: if he wasn’t bothered by the fact that either he or Bruce was a lycanthrope, she might have worried more. As it is, Fury’s apprised of the situation, and he and Bruce are both Outstanding Potions students. The situation is as controlled as it can be, she’d concluded.</p><p>She has other things to think about, anyway.</p><p>The giant clock in the entryway ticks to half past eight when Professor Van Dyne descends the main staircase and Scott Summers is nowhere to be seen.</p><p>Instead, blond hair, blue-eyed, rule-abiding Steve Rogers shows up to meet Professor Van Dyne in the Main Hallway and Natasha feels her plans of silent contemplation have just fallen out from under her. It’s not that Steve Rogers is objectionable as a person - he is a warmer, steadier persona than Summers - but he’s also a bit less nonchalant, and a bit more… involved.</p><p>At Natasha’s silently questioning look, Steve begins to explain himself.</p><p>“Scott asked me to fill in-”</p><p>“Yes, I’ve been made aware,” Professor Van Dyne interrupts, a hint of amusement colouring her voice. “He’s allergic to cherry flavoured chapstick, it seems.”</p><p>Steve’s eyebrows go up, and while Natasha keeps her face neutral, she files that piece of information away for later.</p><p>“You know what to do?” Professor Van Dyne asks, but directs her query more to Steve than Natasha. Unsurprising, really, given that Steve’s been on patrol once this semester already.</p><p>“Make three circuits, stick together, report anything suspicious, and there are Awakening Sodas if we need them in the Prefects’ Common Room,” Steve counts off the instructions on his fingers.</p><p>Idly, Natasha wonders if that’s where Bucky got his supply of Awakening Sodas from. She doesn’t ever recall them being sold in the Village.</p><p>“Good,” Professor Van Dyne says, nodding. “I’ll see you back here at sunrise to file the patrol report.”</p><p>As soon as Professor Van Dyne disappears back to her rooms, Steve turns to her.</p><p>“Which way do you want to go?”</p><p>Natasha shrugs.</p><p>“I started with the East Wing last time,” he offers.</p><p>Natasha’s brain starts calculating rapidly. If it takes them the whole night to do three circuits, each circuit of the castle must take, on average, a little under three hours. Maria will sneak out a little after the patrol starts, so that means she’ll need to avoid the North Tower and Main Building in the first hour - to allow Maria a clear way out of the castle - and avoid the upper floors towards the end of their second circuit.</p><p>“Sure,” Natasha agrees. The Astronomy tower adjoins the main building, and Thunderbird dormitories are in the North Tower. Both parts of the castle can be avoided if they cycle through each wing independently instead of making circuits of each floor, saving the North Tower for last. “Let’s do that.”</p><p>They pass a group of about five junior boys of varying ages making their way up the stairs. The younger boys pause to make friendly conversation with Steve, and she recognises a couple of them from Wampus. Her Wampus juniors nod at her, but the other boys peer at her with some trepidation.</p><p>“Qu’est-ce quell fait?” One of the younger boys asks, as she lurks behind Steve. She represses a smirk. The joke’s on him; she understands French and about thirteen other No-Maj languages.</p><p>Steve must not know what he means, because Sawyer - she recognises him from Wampus - translates the question for him.</p><p>“We’re on patrol duty,” Steve replies, ushering them along to their dormitories gently. The French boy nods in understanding. “Go on, it’s almost curfew.”</p><p>A Japanese boy grins at him enthusiastically and practically trips over his feet in his haste to obey. “Yes, sir!”</p><p>The rest of them beam up at him like he’s a deity of some sort before they split up towards their respective dormitories. That’s impressive, Natasha thinks. The most she can do is get squeaks of terror out of other students with a single glower. They continue walking along the hallway in silence.</p><p>“You can ask,” Steve offers eventually.</p><p>“I don’t need to know,” Natasha says. “But feel free to tell me anyway.”</p><p>Steve shakes his head with a slight chuckle.</p><p>“We’re friends, mostly because we were the scrawny kids that got picked on a lot - I mean, they still get it every now and then, but - having a Prefect around - it’s good for them -”</p><p>She wonders what Sam and Bucky make of Rogers’ hero complex as he pauses to gather his thoughts.</p><p>“-and I don’t like bullies.” He glances over at her, in the middle of his halting sentence. “Not that it’s ever stopped you before.”</p><p>Natasha’s brow rises. “From being a bully?”</p><p>“No,” Steve scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean… it’s just, you hexed Malick when he was bullying other people. Me, actually. I don’t know if you remember this, but…”</p><p>Natasha doesn’t tell him that she remembers every person she’d ever maimed, hexed, cursed, or jinxed, starting with the first blood traitor Madame B had brought into the Red Room for her to practice on. She remembers how Malick twisted Steve’s arm. She remembers how Sam had run for a professor, any professor, while Steve tried to free himself from Malick’s grip. She remembers resisting the urge to inflict more than a Total Body Bind. She remembers Madame B’s voice in her head;<em> you must mean it, Natalia.</em></p><p>“You knew how to take care of yourself from the start, is what I’m saying,” Steve clarifies, his baritone cutting through the haze of her reminiscing.</p><p>Natasha hums in acknowledgement of his statement - if only he really knew - and lets that uncomfortable truth sit between them. What comes out instead is an unconcerned, “Malick’s an ass.”</p><p>Steve chuckles quietly. “Yeah, he was.”</p><p>As they stroll past a wall of paintings to complete their circuit of the second floor of the East Wing, she hears a barely discernible click from behind a tapestry of the Ilvermorny founders just as the clock begins to chime nine. She stops to (ostensibly) admire the gilded frame on which the tapestry is mounted. She can’t see much detail, given that it’s dark and the moon’s not quite at an angle that it lights the corridor, but she can tell it’s on par with the Turkish silk weaves she grew up with that once lined the hallways of the Red Room.</p><p>“I take it you don’t come to this part of the castle often,” Steve says, watching her inspect the tapestry.</p><p>“No reason to,” she replies, running her finger over the smooth fabric, and noticing there is a picture of a door woven into the fabric of the tapestry. She wonders how Pukwudgie students would turn the woven door into an actual door. (A spell? A prod at the knight in the tapestry?) “It’s beautifully done.”</p><p>“It is,” Steve says from behind her. “Next floor?”</p><p>Steve’s question is a tacit confirmation of her suspicion, if she’s ever heard one, and she files that piece of knowledge away for if she ever needs to break into the Pukwudgie dorms.</p><p>She turns away from the tapestry to find Steve hovering near the staircase to the second floor. Maria is long gone from the castle grounds by now, so she shrugs. “Up is good.”</p><p>Steve nods, and they begin the climb to the next floor, neither of them saying a word. Natasha is glad for the silence - she hopes that pleasantries and all conversation for the night have been settled and she can go back to mulling Fury’s theories about Dark Energy in peace.</p><p>When they stop by the Owlery halfway through their first circuit of the castle, Natasha hears a long howl in the distance.</p><p>While Steve freezes briefly at the sound, Natasha glances out of the open window. She’s encountered enough werewolves to know how to identify a werewolf howl - this sounds like a real one. On the other hand, there’s no logical reason for it to be a werewolf; it’s just a waxing gibbous tonight.</p><p>“You think the rumours are true?” Steve asks, as they leave the Owlery.</p><p>“Werewolves only transform under the full moon,” she offers. “That’s not a full moon.”</p><p>“Sure.” Steve says, but the implied ‘<em>if you say so</em>’ hangs between them.</p><p>A steady silence settles over them as they weave their way through the rest of the South Wing, and Natasha’s fingers find the little Ampliphial in her pocket, revelling in the scant warmth emanating from the device. She’s been through colder winters than this autumn night, but she’s in the habit of ensuring that her wand hand is always warm enough to do her most nuanced Wandless magic - even if it’s not allowed on school grounds. Soon enough, they’re looping back into the hallway that leads to the Pukwudgie tapestry, just as the clock chimes midnight. Right on schedule, Natasha thinks.</p><p>“So,” Steve begins, as they begin their second circuit. The word echoes in the stairwell on their way upstairs, and Natasha is immediately wary - as she is with most conversations beginning with ‘so’ - but schools her expression into one of mild curiosity.</p><p>“Is Barton okay?”</p><p>Natasha tilts her head to look up at him in surprise. Of all the questions he could’ve asked, she had not been expecting that. “What?”</p><p>Steve repeats himself, a shadow passing over his face as they turn into a dimly lit corridor. “Is Barton okay?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Natasha asks. She’s glad for once she doesn’t have to feign anything. She’s actually as confused as she sounds.</p><p>Steve pauses, as though he’s figuring out how to phrase it delicately. “He just seemed… a bit down lately.”</p><p>Natasha wonders if this has to do with the amount of reading Clint’s been doing on account of her condition. “I imagine the increased amount of coursework would be enough to stress him out.”</p><p>Steve makes a sympathetic sound as he glances down at her. “So… nothing out of the ordinary, then?”</p><p>Natasha thinks about last weekend, and she allows a small smirk to creep onto her face. “If you count being jumped by Lance Hunter being within the ordinary, sure.”</p><p>“Yeah, I heard about that,” Steve’s wince is apparent in the flickering light of the sconces. “Is it true that you broke Hunter’s nose?”</p><p>Natasha chuckles darkly. “Nothing <em>Episkey</em> couldn’t fix.”</p><p>There is a beat in the conversation, and she wonders if he’s filing this away together with his memory of her jinxing Gideon Malick, or if he’s putting two and two together.</p><p>By the time they get to the fifth floor of the South Wing, it’s a little after one in the morning, and Steve’s fighting a series of yawns when he pauses in front of the Prefects’ Common Room door. “Do you need an Awakening Soda?”</p><p>“I’m good.”</p><p>Steve nods, pressing his palm to the door. She nears the soft <em>snick</em> as the lock clicks open. “I’m going to just-”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll wait out here.” She nods at the corridor, which is brightly lit where the moonlight is streaming in through the glass panes.</p><p>He looks like he wants to say something - probably his chivalry kicking in, she muses dryly - but then he disappears into the Prefects’ Common Room without another word of protest.</p><p>Natasha crosses to the other side of the corridor and mulls over the contents of the Ampliphial in the moonlight.</p><p>Her examination of the gold coin suspended in the matrix of the little bottle earlier in the week indicated that it was designed to resemble a Galleon, but there’s an odd etching on it that appears to be an eight-headed Runespoor in the place of where the traditional dragon emblem on American Galleons - a nod to the old Dragot currency - should be. She keeps coming back to the same question: What does a badly counterfeited coin have to do with Dark Energy?</p><p>Fury would have told her the answer if it wasn’t glaringly obvious, so there must be something she’s not getting. The gold coin twinkles mockingly in the moonlight.</p><p>Beside her, the tell-tale creak of the door tells her that Steve’s done rummaging around in the Common Room. She shoves the Ampliphial back into the pocket of her robes hastily as he pops the tab. Some of it dribbles onto his sky-blue school sweater as the bubbles escape from the can.</p><p>Steve looks down at his sweater annoyedly. (Natasha’s getting a very strong sense of deja vu here – what is it with boys and their sweaters?)</p><p>“<em>Tergeo</em>.” She whips out her wand before he can protest, and the stain disappears instantly. Steve’s eyes widen almost comically, tugging at the sweater to see whether there’s anything left.</p><p>“How’d you-?”</p><p>“My cat likes to vomit,” Natasha lies easily. It’s true that Goose does vomit more frequently than she’d like, but Flerken vomit is an organic magical substance that does not lend itself to being easily removed by a spell.</p><p>“It must really have done that a lot,” he says, still tugging on his sweater to see the extent of the stain. (He won’t find anything. Natasha knows her own handiwork.)</p><p>“Among other things.”</p><p>Just as they’re about to move on, her ears pick up a slight sound coming from down the hall. It’s not particularly discernible, but she knows the scraping sound of a broomstick against a cast iron frame a few windows down from them. Maria’s back.</p><p>Maria at least had the foresight to Disillusion herself and the broom, but there is a muted thump where she lands on the floor. She knows Maria’s not particularly flexible, and her chosen point of ingress is probably a further distance from the floor than she’d anticipated. Throw in the fact that Maria’s not particularly light-footed, and…</p><p>“Did you hear that?” Steve’s head whips around at the direction of the sound, and Natasha looks over towards the corridor in alarm. Steve’s got his wand out now, advancing towards the Main Building.</p><p>Maria might still be invisible, but Natasha needs to distract Steve long enough for her to get to Thunderbird tower, and the entrance to the Thunderbird dormitory right is behind them. There’s no way Maria can access the door without Steve hearing her activate the statue.</p><p>“Rogers,” Natasha lays a hand on his arm, as gently as she can manage, “Maybe you should let me go first.”</p><p>This does not have its intended effect, because he turns around to face her - and the entrance to the Thunderbird dormitories - with some trepidation.</p><p>“My ma would skin me alive if she knew I let a lady in harm’s way.”</p><p>Natasha has to fight to keep a smile off her lips as she pushes past him into the Main Hallway, directing his gaze forward so that Maria will have a clear shot at the dorms. “But I’m not a lady,” she says. “I’m a Romanoff.”</p><p>“You don’t even have your wand out,” Steve protests - loudly enough to mask the movement of the marble statue, following her into the Main Hallway. He doesn’t notice her eyes dart behind him to the statue of the marble angel, whose wings have unfurled to admit the empty space that must be Maria and her Comet.</p><p>“There,” she says loudly, to cover the noise. “Happy?”</p><p>He shushes her with a finger to her lips as the wings open to reveal the entry pedestal. “Whatever it is, you’ve probably made our presence known.”</p><p><em>Come on, </em>Natasha wills the statue - and Maria - to move faster.</p><p>“What’s all this ruckus?” Professor Philips bursts out of his room in his pyjamas, clearly having been roused from sleep by their loud(ish) conversation. “Who’s here?”</p><p><em>Oh, shit.</em> If Professor Phillips takes a few more steps into the Main Hallway, he’ll be directly opposite the marble angel with its wings outstretched and Maria on the pedestal.</p><p>She needs to distract him. She needs to distract them both.</p><p>Professor Phillips is not the most observant man, so Natasha does the only thing she can think of to distract Professor Phillips from looking at the statue: She grabs Steve by his collar and shoves him up against a nearby wall in a place where Phillips will definitely catch them.</p><p>“Kiss me,” she hisses. If she notices that his hands automatically close around her waist, she doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Public displays of affection make teachers really angry,” she says urgently.</p><p>“Yeah, but-”</p><p><em>Ah, to hell with it, </em>she thinks, as she pulls Steve Rogers’ head towards hers.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>to my Asian readers (and those who identify as Asian), happy lunar new year! </p><p>this chapter was a bitch to write, so please enjoy - as usual, constructive comments/criticism very welcome!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. pleasedon'tjinxthemessenger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Everyone is off their game. Just a little. </p>
<p>(Except Jean Grey, who put Scott Summers in the infirmary with her chapstick and stole the snitch - and victory - from Pukwudgie.)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“And then she said, ‘Kiss me,’ and then I ask why-”</p>
<p>Bucky throws a grape at him. “Dude. If Natasha Romanoff asks you to kiss her, you don’t ask why. You just do it.”</p>
<p>“Don’t interrupt him, man; it’s a good story.”</p>
<p>Sam has heard the story once before, when Steve had returned to the Pukwudgie dorms after the sunrise report.</p>
<p>They didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, Natasha reported, except that maybe there should be a guideline that patrols be conducted in silence as far as possible. Steve didn’t think he’d been much of a chatterbox, so he tried not to take her remarks personally. At that point, Professor Van Dyne had made another quip about it being lucky that Steve didn’t have a cherry chapstick allergy, which made him think that the entire staff had found out within minutes of Professor Phillips catching them doing what they’d done.</p>
<p>He’s merely rehashing the incident for Bucky’s benefit, and also to set the record straight. His best friend is very well connected to the gossip grapevine, and if there’s going to be a public record of his humiliation, it should at least be accurate.</p>
<p>Steve continues, “-and she says public displays of affection make teachers very angry and then I said ‘yeah’, and then she kisses me.”</p>
<p>“What a champ, Stevie,” Bucky crows, clapping him on the back, nearly causing his orange juice to spill onto his lap. “Who knew that puberty would do so much for you that Natasha Romanoff would be kissing you after-hours in the corridors?”</p>
<p>“That’s not the best part,” Sam chuckles into his brioche.</p>
<p>Bucky looks confused. “What else is there?”</p>
<p>Steve drops his head into his hands, ashamed. “We have detention for not taking our prefectorial duties seriously.”</p>
<p>Bucky bursts out laughing, which gets the attention of some of the younger students around them.</p>
<p>Sam chimes in, “I told him I didn’t know it was possible for Prefects to get detention.”</p>
<p>Steve groans into his hands. “Shut <em>up</em>.”</p>
<p>A snicker. Sam jabs him in the ribs. “Psst, she’s here.”</p>
<p>When Steve looks up, the first thing he notices is a head of flaming auburn hair settling in at a table on the far end of the Dining Hall. He ducks his head, as though she can see him from where she sits. To her credit, she doesn’t seem to notice or care that there are various stares being directed at her this morning. Steve wishes he’d had the foresight to tell Bucky about this in private.</p>
<p>“She doesn’t seem too affected,” Bucky observes.</p>
<p>“Why should she be? She’s the one who jumped him,” Sam counters.</p>
<p>When he and Sam get to Transfiguration, Natasha is already there, flipping through a book rapidly.</p>
<p>“Hey,” he says.</p>
<p>“Hey,” she doesn’t look up as he sits down. She continues parsing the material in front of her, no hint in her demeanour that she’s at all bothered by his presence, or that anything happened between them last night.</p>
<p>There is nothing - absolutely nothing! - to suggest that anything happened last night, but Steve feels like his classmates are watching them carefully even though it’s barely been eight hours. There’s no way the school could have known what happened last night so quickly.</p>
<p>When Professor May sweeps into the classroom and levels a look at Steve that tells him that she <em>knows</em>, Steve’s less convinced of his paranoia and more convinced that it’s gotten around the school. <em>Teachers are capable of gossip too, you know, </em>Sam had insisted, and Steve is beginning to see that his friend might be right.</p>
<p>The rest of Transfiguration is purgatory, because Natasha is perfectly civil to him, as though nothing had happened last night, which throws him (and hopefully everyone else watching) off. Steve still has no idea what she meant by that kiss or what she intended by it - there’s a niggling feeling inside him that there’s something seriously wrong here - and he can’t just let it slide.</p>
<p>He catches her after Transfiguration, on the way to the Dining Hall for lunch. The junior high kids have just ended their first block classes too, and are streaming past them into the Dining Hall.</p>
<p>“Um. Natasha. Can we talk?”</p>
<p>“Sure.” She halts just outside the classroom and watches him expectantly. If Natasha notices the kissing noises Bucky is making behind him or the curious looks the younger students are throwing their way, she’s doing a very good job of not caring.</p>
<p>“Um, privately?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t mean to sound quite so meek, but this he supposes this is as close to confident as he’s going to get. Her jade green eyes rake over his face, and then she glances at Maria Hill and Pepper Potts, who Steve has just noticed are waiting for her further down the corridor. She nods once at them. “I’ll catch up.”</p>
<p>A sly grin creeps across Maria’s face, and Steve tries not to think about what Maria knows about last night. (Well, it’s not like they did anything besides kiss.)</p>
<p>“What’s going on there?” He hears Pepper ask Maria in hushed tones. Pepper throws them a confused look, but she’s smart enough to figure it out.</p>
<p>Natasha beckons him behind a pillar, and Steve tries not to think about the very similar pillar that he got shoved against.</p>
<p>How does he broach the topic of what happened last night? What does he say? Where does he start? He thinks about how the kiss began, how her lips felt on his, how she knew to angle her head to match his-</p>
<p>Her eyes are boring a hole in his head, but she looks slightly amused. He wonders if she was reliving the moment, too. “Was that your first kiss?”</p>
<p><em>Yes.</em> “That bad, huh?” His hand moves to his nape, embarrassed.</p>
<p>“Who else did you tell?”</p>
<p>“No one,” he says.</p>
<p>Her grey-green eyes probe his expression, searching, and <em>something</em> settles on her face. He can’t tell what it is; it’s not quite complacency, but it’s not quite relief, either. “They think I’m looking to jump a post-pubescent you?”</p>
<p>“Yup.”</p>
<p>She smiles a little. “Do <em>you</em> think I’m looking to jump a post-pubescent you?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what to think,” he admits.</p>
<p>A flicker of amusement flits across her face, and then it’s gone, just as quickly as it appeared. “Okay. Good talk, Rogers.”</p>
<p>She makes to leave and he holds his hands out, blocking her exit. “Whoa, aren’t you going to tell me why you kissed me?”</p>
<p>Natasha looks like she’s considering it, and then smiles, a full-blown smile that takes his breath away. “No, I don’t think so,” she pats him on the shoulder and stalks down the corridor, leaving him standing alone with his thoughts. <em>What the heck kind of answer was that?</em></p>
<p>“You okay, Rogers?” A voice behind him startles him. It’s Professor May, leaving her classroom with her Transfiguration reference books floating in a little bubble beside her.</p>
<p>He whips around, suddenly realising that he’s been staring at a wall. “I, uh, was-”</p>
<p>“I mean, it’s a fascinating wall,” she says wryly, gesturing to the pillar where he’d been half hidden.</p>
<p>Steve turns pink, mumbles an apology, and promptly legs it to the Dining Hall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Natasha might not have said anything to Clint directly about what happened last night, but the whispers that fill the hallways after her powwow with Steve Rogers after their Transfiguration class say plenty.</p>
<p>If the rumour mill is to be believed, the first three detentions Steve Rogers ever gets at Ilvermorny came from being caught in the middle of a make out session with Natasha Romanoff while still on patrol duty. As though Clint needed further confirmation of the rumours, Steve has a perpetually confounded look on his face throughout all of Creature Care, something that is only exacerbated when Tony Stark shows up in class and takes a seat next to Clint by the animal pen.</p>
<p>“What are you doing here?” Steve asks, his confusion - at least, according to Clint - appearing to reach new highs.</p>
<p>“Bruce is out sick,” Tony says. “I’m taking notes for him.”</p>
<p>“Magnanimous of you,” Clint comments dryly. Tony doesn’t take Creature Care, and he certainly doesn’t hand out favours for nothing.</p>
<p>“Come, class,” Professor Erskine says, beckoning the students closer to the animal pen, where there is a cluster of brightly coloured bird-like creatures hanging from the vines overhead. “Have a look at the fwoopers. If you’ve read your textbook, you’ll know about-”</p>
<p>This is the part where Clint tries to pay attention because he <em>hasn’t</em> read the textbook, but no such luck - Tony turns around in his seat to Bucky and Steve, completely ignoring Professor Erskine.</p>
<p>“How was it?”</p>
<p>“How was what?”</p>
<p>“Kissing Romanoff.”</p>
<p>Steve Rogers sputters incoherently and turns the same shade as a tomato. “How do you even-”</p>
<p>“Hah! I knew it!” Tony gloats, rapping Bucky’s desk. “Pay up, Barnes.”</p>
<p>Professor Erskine shoots them a disapproving look in the middle of his sentence. “Mr Stark, if you’re going to take notes for Mr Banner, I suggest you pay attention to what I’m saying.”</p>
<p>Tony has the good grace to look abashed. “Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“Now, as I was saying…”</p>
<p>Behind him, the conversation continues in hushed tones. “No way, my bet was for them to get together by Halloween.”</p>
<p>“No, that was <em>my</em> bet for Hill and Wilson. Your bet was that Romanoff and Rogers was never going to happen.” Tony extends his hand behind him in a ‘gimme’ motion. Clint scoots his chair away from Tony, wanting no part of this nonsense.</p>
<p>“…who can tell me why we need to continually silence the fwoopers?”</p>
<p>A few hands shoot into the air. Clint’s finally found the page in his textbook about fwoopers, and he scans it quickly.</p>
<p>“Yes, Mr Rumlow.”</p>
<p>“…the birdsong drives you crazy, to the point of insanity.”</p>
<p>“That’s what you get for betting against me,” Steve mutters under his breath. Slightly louder, he clasps his hands together without a trace of irony, “thank you, Lord Jesus.”</p>
<p>Clint wonders if Steve is thanking the Lord Jesus for the kiss or that Bucky is going to lose money. Probably both. He makes a mental note to have a word with Natasha after class.</p>
<p>“Well, his love life was <em>supposed</em> to be dead,” Bucky grouses, rummaging around in his wallet. “My bet was that his love life is dead.”</p>
<p>“Indeed,” Professor Erskine nods, completely unaware of what Clint hears. “Does anyone know what class license you require to own a fwooper?”</p>
<p>Now that Professor Erskine is waiting for someone to answer the question, the conversation behind Clint grinds to a halt. Professor Erskine looks vaguely annoyed that no one took the time to do the extra reading. Clint doesn’t blame them; if it’s not in the textbook he wouldn’t have cared either. “Nobody?”</p>
<p>“And now it’s not,” Tony says quickly to Bucky. And then his hand shoots into the air to answer Professor Erskine’s question.</p>
<p>“Yes, Mr Stark.”</p>
<p>“A fwooper is a Schedule 2(1) Creature pursuant to MACUSA ownership regulations, and a Schedule 3 Creature for the purposes of magical beast spell-testing regulations.”</p>
<p>Professor Erskine smiles a little. “You gave up on Creature Care too soon, Mr Stark. Take five points for Thunderbird.”</p>
<p>Tony smirks at Bucky.</p>
<p>“Well, one kiss doesn’t mean that his love life is alive,” Bucky says petulantly in response, as Professor Erskine starts on his lecture again. “It’s not like anything else has come out of this make out session, right Stevie?”</p>
<p>Steve looks very much like he wants to crawl into a hole and hide with a unicorn foal until all this blows over, while Professor Erskine asks them to come up and pick a fwooper to manage for the rest of the lesson.</p>
<p>The fwooper Steve picks - or more accurately, the fwooper that picks Steve - is bright pink and poops just as it flutters off the vine onto his (Steve’s) hand. The look on his face, coupled with the accumulative misfortune of Steve’s entire situation today, strikes Clint as oddly hilarious.</p>
<p>“<em>Merlin’s beard</em>-”</p>
<p>Tony and Bucky burst into laughter at this, scaring three other fwoopers who swoop towards the other students in protest at their laughter.</p>
<p>“Don’t try to change the topic, Rogers,” Tony gasps through his mirth. “I’m trying to understand how you managed to get Romanoff to make out with you.”</p>
<p>“Why, do <em>you</em> need practice seducing women, Stark?” Clint asks dryly, dropping a handful of dried seeds into the glass feeder for his fwooper, which makes a clicking noise of approval with its beak. Both Steve and Tony swing their heads around at Clint - Steve with some surprise; Tony incredulous - who shrugs. “What? It’s a legitimate question.”</p>
<p>Steve turns back to the creature in front of him, the back of his neck turning pink with embarrassment.</p>
<p>“Can we focus on the fwoopers, please?”</p>
<p>“We’re trying to understand if your love life is alive,” Bucky clarifies.</p>
<p>When Steve doesn’t say anything else, Tony presses the issue. “Well? Are you going to do anything about the kiss?”</p>
<p>Clint has to strain his ears to hear Steve’s response. “…No.”</p>
<p>“Aha!” Bucky thumbs his nose, fingers waggling triumphantly. “So it’s still dead.”</p>
<p>Professor Erskine looks over, alarmed. “What’s dead?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, sir. Just Rogers’ love life.”</p>
<p>A wave of laughter ripples through the classroom - so everyone’s heard by now, then - and Steve’s face is roughly the same colour as his fwooper. Professor Erskine’s shoulders fall in disappointment. “I expect better from you boys.”</p>
<p>“So does Romanoff,” Tony mutters under his breath that carries, setting off another wave of laughter in the room. With such callous disregard for other people, Clint sometimes wonders how Pepper could have ever dated him in the first place.</p>
<p>To cap it all off, Tony deftly plucks a feather from the brightly coloured fwooper he’s supposed to be handling and tucks it into his hair. The lime green creature snaps its beak at them in protest and Clint’s hawk-like reflexes and dragon-hide gloves are the only things that stand between him and a severed finger.</p>
<p>“Animal abuse much?” Clint mutters, trying to get the fwooper to stay still long enough for him to magically regrow its feathers. The poor fwooper won’t let Clint touch it now - it’s hopping back and forth on the perch and glaring at Tony, mistrustful of Clint. Clint’s own fwooper, though, is happily chomping away on the feed in the jar and its feathers are turning purple the more it eats.</p>
<p>As the lesson goes on, Clint wonders just what Tony is doing here, exactly. Bruce could have gotten Helen Cho to take his notes, or asked Steve when he next saw him. He didn’t have to be here.</p>
<p>But it was apparent after the end of the lesson when Tony beats Clint to the front of the classroom to ask Professor Erskine about something. Clint knows his hearing is better than most, and he’s not particularly shy about eavesdropping.</p>
<p>“Professor, you know about those MACUSA spell-testing regulations…”</p>
<p>“Yes…?”</p>
<p>“I was wondering if you were able to procure any humanoid beasts…”</p>
<p>Clint is intrigued. <em>What on earth would Tony Stark need humanoid beasts for?</em></p>
<p>Professor Erskine looks up from his desk and notices Clint still hovering. “Did you have anything different to ask me?”</p>
<p>If Tony doesn’t find Professor Erskine’s phrasing of the question weird, he’s probably being nice about it: Clint knows, on his part, that he’s asked the same questions every week since the third week of term. He knows it’s madness for repeating the same queries over and over again and that he can’t keep expecting the answer to change, but he hopes anyway. But today, Clint shakes his head.</p>
<p>Professor Erskine nods in acknowledgement. “If you will excuse us, Mr Barton, perhaps you will give me a minute with Mr Stark alone?”</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p>Clint disappears outside the Menagerie, but it doesn’t mean he can’t hear what’s being discussed inside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just as Natasha enters the Dining Hall a little before dinner, a third year student she vaguely recognises as the Pukwudgie Chaser comes up to her.</p>
<p>“Uh, you’re Natasha Romanoff, right?”</p>
<p>Natasha knows that’s a rhetorical question, so she inclines her head in response.</p>
<p>“I’m…uh, supposed to tell you that… ProfessorFurywantstoseeyounow.” He says the last part in a rush, and slightly squeakily. “Pleasedon’tjinxthemessenger.”</p>
<p>Natasha only raises an eyebrow. When she doesn’t budge, he scurries off to his third-year friends - a chubby boy and a girl with her curly hair in a messy bun - who are watching her curiously. She grabs a slice of pizza off the nearest table and turns back towards the hallway, chewing as she goes along.</p>
<p>“Great, Natasha’s here,” Maria Hill pulls the door to Fury’s office open just as Natasha is about to knock, pulls her through it and shuts it quickly.</p>
<p>Natasha is surprised to see Maria Rambeau come towards her with her hands outstretched. “Good. You’re just in time. Give me some of your hair.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Don’t argue with her,” Fury growls from where he’s pacing behind his desk. “Do it.”</p>
<p>It’s then that Natasha realises that Maria Rambeau is dressed in a combination of school robes in a manner identical to Natasha’s preferred style - from the tapered grey trousers to the black cloak and cranberry sweater combination. Natasha runs her hands through her auburn waves and hands Maria a strand of loose hair, and watches as Rambeau drops it into her vial of what must be Polyjuice potion.</p>
<p>“Thanks.”</p>
<p>Natasha silently watches the potion turn a pleasant mulberry hue as Rambeau shakes the glass bottle. She doesn’t want to know why Rambeau needs to disguise herself to get in and out of the school - or how she even got in in the first place. She’s got enough going on as it is. Maria settles into one of the chairs in front of Fury’s desk, while Rambeau downs the contents of the flask and nods in Maria’s direction.</p>
<p>“In other news, she’ll be joining you in detention this week.” Natasha has never wondered what she would sound like if she had Rambeau’s voice, and now she never has to. Rambeau continues, “I had to explain to Professor Selvig why I was skipping Transfiguration.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, thanks for that,” Maria says dryly.</p>
<p>“You’re welcome,” Natasha’s twin winks at Fury. “How do I look?”</p>
<p>“Unnervingly like my kid,” Fury says, crossing his arms.</p>
<p>“Nat, what happens if I meet that blond beefcake you were-”</p>
<p>Fury chucks a book at Rambeau on Natasha’s behalf. “Get out.”</p>
<p>Rambeau blows them a kiss and slinks out of Fury’s room in an effective imitation of Natasha’s naturally fluid walk, and Natasha hangs back in the blind spot as the door opens in case there are people outside in the corridor. Rambeau’ll be fine as long as she doesn’t have to talk to anyone. Mannerisms are easier to fake than voices, after all.</p>
<p>Once the door is shut again, Natasha turns to Fury and Maria.</p>
<p>“Does everyone know?”</p>
<p>She reads some kind of amusement in Fury’s face. “Phillips is not known for his subtlety.”</p>
<p>Natasha nods. “Am I done here?”</p>
<p>“Give it a few minutes,” Fury grunts. He gestures to Maria. “I’ve also asked Maria to give you a summary of last night’s findings.”</p>
<p>“Right.”</p>
<p>There is a beat in the conversation while Maria tries to figure out how much Fury wants to share with her.</p>
<p>“It’s not Inferi,” Maria offers eventually. “That much we can confirm.”</p>
<p>“So basically, we know nothing?” Natasha turns to Fury, who is assiduously avoiding eye contact by moving to his favourite spot by the large window overlooking the grounds. <em>He knows something. </em></p>
<p>“Something like that,” he demurs.</p>
<p>The way his eyes flicker to the fireplace behind her makes her think that maybe she <em>does</em> need to know why Rambeau’s sneaking in and out of campus, and not coming in by Floo. She chances a glance at Maria, who shrugs.</p>
<p>“You do realise that Rambeau’s story about skipping Transfiguration is going to fall apart the minute Selvig talks to May or anyone from class this morning?”</p>
<p>“I’ll take care of it,” Fury promises, glancing down towards the grounds. “Rambeau’s just gone past the greenhouses. You’re in the clear. Get out of here, both of you.”</p>
<p>Maria and Natasha exit the office and run smack into Clint, who’s making the trek up to the Wampus dormitories after Creature Care. He looks plenty surprised to see them both, something which Natasha doesn’t quite understand until he opens his mouth.</p>
<p>“Hey - wait, I thought I just saw Tasha headed out to the greenhouses…”</p>
<p>Natasha knows she’s got her best ‘who me?’ face on. “Greenhouses?”</p>
<p>Clint shrugs, adjusting the strap on his messenger bag. “I thought you were headed to the lake.”</p>
<p>Natasha knows what Maria must be thinking: If Clint had seen Rambeau headed that way after Creature Care, there’s a good chance a lot of other people would have seen Rambeau-Natasha there, too. Better for Natasha to disappear from the corridor as soon as possible.</p>
<p>“You know, I left my wand in Professor Fury’s office,” Maria says abruptly, patting her pockets down. “You guys go ahead. I’ll catch you at dinner.”</p>
<p>Natasha takes this as her cue to steer Clint away from Fury’s office and back up to the Wampus dormitories so he can drop his books off. Clint doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, doesn’t seem to mind.</p>
<p>“Tony was at Creature Care today.”</p>
<p>Natasha thought he’d dropped the subject. “Why?”</p>
<p>“I thought he wanted to pump Steve for dirt. By the way, did you actually…”</p>
<p>She sighs. They haven’t spoken extensively today since he doesn’t take Transfiguration and she doesn’t take Creature Care, but she thought she’d be able to avoid talking about this with Clint. “Yes.”</p>
<p>Clint looks amused. “And?”</p>
<p>“And what?”</p>
<p>“That’s it?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Natasha says. He raises his eyebrow in an unasked question. She shakes her head in answer. She can’t tell Clint more if she doesn’t tell him about Maria’s field trips, but that’s not exactly the kind of conversation they can have in ten minutes before dinner because who knows what theories they’ll venture into? But her mind suddenly catches on something that Clint said just now. “You said you <em>thought </em>Tony was there to get gossip?”</p>
<p>“Nah, he was there to chat to Erskine about MACUSA testing permits.”</p>
<p>“Testing permits?” Natasha repeats, trying not to sound too interested.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>When he explains everything that he’d overheard Tony and Professor Erskine discussing after Creature Care, whatever she’d figured out over the weekend begins to fall into place. If Natasha had any lingering doubts about her hunch about the Potions Bros, they’re resolved when she walks into Potions the next day and finds Bruce Banner conspicuously missing.</p>
<p>Natasha unpacks her Potions ingredients and gives Tony Stark a curious look. “Where’s Banner?”</p>
<p>Stark doesn’t meet her gaze, only flips his books to the appropriate page. “Out sick.”</p>
<p>“He seemed fine at Transfiguration yesterday morning,” Natasha’s voice morphs into something softer, meant to draw out answers to her unasked questions. Tony looks up, no doubt drawn in by her sympathetic tone.</p>
<p>“He came down with something after lunch,” he offers.</p>
<p>“Oh,” she says, mutedly. “I hope he’s okay.”</p>
<p>“He’ll be fine,” Tony plays it remarkably cool considering his pants are on fire, Natasha thinks. “You’ll see him next week, guaranteed.”</p>
<p>The rest of the lesson passes in relative silence, save for where Tony offers comment on her brewing techniques and she asks to borrow some of his essence of violet.</p>
<p>At dinner that day, Natasha checks the timing for moonrise on Pepper’s copy of the Magister Times. Just as she’d suspected.</p>
<p>Clint is practically inhaling the risotto in front of him.</p>
<p>“You gonna eat that?” Clint asks, pointing at Pepper’s half-eaten bowl of three-bean chilli.</p>
<p>Pepper doesn’t look up from the patrol schedule. “No, I’m done with that.”</p>
<p>By now - it’s been less than forty-eight hours - the entire Prefectorial Board (and by extension, the rest of the school) knows that Steve and Natasha have been given three weekend detentions in a row, so Pepper has to reshuffle some of the pairings for the rest of the semester.</p>
<p>Clint grabs the bowl. “Excellent.”</p>
<p>“You know, getting three weekend detentions in a row is really messing with the patrol schedule,” Pepper turns to Natasha as she moves the names on the roster around with her wand. Maria grins at Natasha, nudging her with her elbow as Steve Rogers finds himself the centre of attention on the other side of the Dining Hall.</p>
<p>Maria would know all about it, of course, her clumsy footwork getting Natasha into this predicament in the first place; but she - wisely, in Natasha’s book - chooses to say nothing.</p>
<p>Natasha hums, turning a page of the Magister Times idly. “Can’t be helped.”</p>
<p>“You could have helped it if you hadn’t made out with him on patrol duty,” Clint says, around a mouthful of chilli. Maria looks over at Natasha in surprise. Natasha presses her lips together, silently communicating to Maria that she hadn’t gotten a chance to update Clint on anything - including what Rogers said on Sunday night about Clint seeming a little off this semester - yet. Maria shakes her head subtly, but thankfully neither Clint nor Pepper seemed to have noticed. She really does need to catch Clint up on the Fury thing.</p>
<p>“Well,” Pepper shifts the names around for the fourth time in a row, “the only way I see this working is if you and Steve take the weekend after you’re both done with your detentions.”</p>
<p>Natasha looks up sharply from the newspaper. She’s starting to think Rogers is not quite as blond or as helpless as he makes himself out to be, and the last thing she needs is him sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. “Again?” She asks. “There are sixteen of us.”</p>
<p>“Quidditch season starts this weekend,” Maria points out. “Pukwudgie versus Horned Serpent?”</p>
<p>“I’ll have to work around the match schedules,” Pepper adds.</p>
<p>“…Right.”</p>
<p>Pepper turns her head to assess Natasha, her ponytail swinging with the movement. She knows it’s not like her to forget these things. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>Natasha tries to focus on the page in front of her. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She knows she’s better at compartmentalising than this. She needs to be better.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint isn’t sure why they’re attending the Horned Serpent versus Pukwudgie match.</p>
<p>Granted, the first Quidditch match of the season is usually a pretty big deal, but he’d really rather not be here on a Saturday morning. He’d rather be in his room writing letters to Laura, who hasn’t yet replied to his letter. Or researching how to help Tasha. Maria, though, being the sports fiend that she is, and taking her role as Thunderbird captain very seriously, has insisted that she attend the match. (<em>“I’m going with or without you suckers”</em>, she’d said, and while Clint had really rather she go without him, Natasha was going even though she had detention later that evening; and if Natasha was going, then Clint really had no excuse to skive, did he?)</p>
<p>But now he’s really, really regretting his decision. Maria could not have gotten worse seats: they’re positioned towards the end of the pitch so they can’t really see what’s going on where Dum-Dum Dugan is guarding Pukwudgie’s goalposts, and they also, for some reason, are perfectly positioned to catch the utterly frigid November cross-wind. He supposes on some level that the shitty seats are to be expected, seeing as none of them actually are from either Pukwudgie or Horned Serpent. Unfortunately, this also means that he is in the very uncomfortable position of being both within earshot of a very chatty group of seniors (comprising Colleen Wing, Bobbi Morse and a few others), and being a row behind Lance Hunter and <em>his</em> friends.</p>
<p>Someone in Colleen’s group starts the gossip ball rolling even though they really should be paying attention to the action going on above them. He can barely hear the commentator over all their gossip, but it starts with Betty Ross putting a Quaffle past Sam Wilson in the first ten minutes of the game. <em>Poor dude.</em></p>
<p>Predictably, the gossip starts off with Natasha’s little incident - the way she’s watching the Quidditch match makes him think, <em>holy shit is that why she’s here, though, to watch Rogers</em> <em>play ball</em> - and then before Clint has a chance to process that further, the conversation takes a turn towards Clint’s own love life and the group behind speculate if maybe Steve is the reason why Clint’s not dating Natasha.</p>
<p>He nudges Tasha next to him, who flicks him back on his knee.</p>
<p>“Focus on the match.” Big words, coming from someone who’s most definitely listening to what they’re saying.</p>
<p>Clint’s aware that the score is now forty-ten in Pukwudgie’s favour. (This is pretty surprising, given that two of the Pukwudgie players are new.)</p>
<p>And then the gossip turns towards why he’s not dating anyone, and Tasha pinches his knee. “Care to explain yourself?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, that hypocrite…</em>
</p>
<p>“Barton’s changed over the summer. He’s more confident now.” He knows that voice. They all know that voice. Natasha lets out a soft snicker, and in front of him, Lance stiffens. <em>Real subtle there, buddy.</em></p>
<p>“So your crush on her was preventing her from liking you back?” Natasha mutters to Clint. “If that were the case, I’d have thrown a No-Maj girl at you sooner.”</p>
<p>In the background, he hears a roar from the other side of the pitch. Horned Serpent must have just scored.</p>
<p>“Gee, thanks for that.”</p>
<p>“What if Bobbi did actually ask you out, though?” Natasha asks quietly, not taking her eyes off the flying brooms above them. “Do you think you’d say - <em>oh, good throw, Hogun</em> - do you think you’d say yes?”</p>
<p>Clint doesn’t know what to think. Laura hasn’t written a reply in about a month, and Bobbi’s just broken up with Lance. It’s all too much, really. He used to think that he’d jump at the chance to date Bobbi Morse, but now he’s hesitating, and he knows Natasha can see that.</p>
<p>“You’re not thrilled about the opportunity,” Natasha observes dryly, just as Wilson pulls off a spectacular save, and the seats around them explode into a roar of approval.</p>
<p>“I’m not saying no, either,” Clint reminds her. His eyes drift to Maria, who’s clapping vigorously for the Pukwudgie Keeper.</p>
<p>“That girl must really be something,” Natasha muses quietly, watching the brooms swerve above them. Clint turns his eyes back skyward just as a Bludger finds its mark with a dull thunk. They all wince in unison as Sam Wilson’s broom tailspins while Rhodey puts another Quaffle past him.</p>
<p>“That’s gotta hurt,” Clint’s watching Sam Wilson.</p>
<p>“You’re not denying it.”</p>
<p>“No, she really is something. She’s…”</p>
<p>“Sweet?” Tasha sounds like she’s guessing, but he knows she’s seen things in his head. He should be insulted, but he knows it’s how she knows he can be trusted. That she can always count on him. And Tasha rarely oversteps. She respects him enough to not overstep. He appreciates that. This is how they work.</p>
<p>“Well, yes…” As he says this, he stares very hard at the back of Lance Hunter’s head because he <em>knows</em> Lance is probably listening in, even if he and Tasha are whispering about it. Clint thinks about Laura’s sparkling brown eyes and gentleness, a far cry from the assertive blonde Bobbi he thought he liked.</p>
<p>“…in other words, nothing like-” Natasha subtly points her thumb behind them, and Clint nods.</p>
<p>“Hey, since we’re speaking of love lives…” He gestures to their current seats with a questioning look. Natasha doesn’t look away from the game, but she must see what he’s doing in her peripheral vision, because her small smirk and the flicker of her eyes towards Maria’s distracted form tells Clint all he needs to know.</p>
<p>“I swear, the next time she tries to drag us to a Quidditch match…” he grumbles.</p>
<p>“She can’t. This is the only one we’re all sitting out together.” In the background, he tunes back into the commentary - “<em>oh, Carter’s going for it, lovely feint there…</em>”</p>
<p>Clint does some quick math in his head just as the crowd around him roars again. “What’s the score now?”</p>
<p>“One twenty to a hundred,” Natasha supplies. “Pukwudgie leading.”</p>
<p>“Oh, shit,” he says, squinting into the cloudy sky. “Better be paying attention then.”</p>
<p>He can practically hear her eyes rolling. “I said that about twenty minutes ago.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fury’s asked that you serve your detention with him,” Phillips grunts unhappily, as Steve shows up for detention in the East Wing classroom. Steve is thankful on some level that Professor Fury had stepped in; he’d heard that Professor Phillips had a knack for making his detention students polish trophies and broom handles with elbow grease, and while Steve can straighten his bed and shine his leather shoes without magic, three straight weekends of shining broom handles did not seem like something he would willingly do. But then again, detention is supposed to be punishment.</p>
<p>“He’s in the fifth-floor classroom after the portrait of Stanley Lieber.” Steve knows that classroom. It’s the one next to Fury’s designated DADA classroom. When Steve gets there, Romanoff is already there, talking quietly to Professor Fury. The second they notice he’s in the room, they shut up. They exchange a look that Steve can’t quite decipher, and then he smiles awkwardly.</p>
<p>“Sorry I’m late - Professor Phillips just told me-”</p>
<p>“That’s fine,” Fury says, waving his apology off. “This is what you’ll be doing today. Research.”</p>
<p>He points at a tall stack of books on the table at the front of the classroom. Steve takes a moment to gape at it - the stack is nearly as tall as he is.</p>
<p>“That’s…”</p>
<p>Fury pats him on the shoulder. “Due punishment. You have three weekends to get through all of this. I want a report of all the things you’ve read at the end of each week, and a consolidated statement of your research at the end of the three weekends.”</p>
<p>Steve is sure that at this point, he looks like a fish out of water. He’s not sure which is worse, really - the mindless shining of school trophies or having to wrack his brains for a subject that he’ll never get an Outstanding on. While he’s processing this horrific turn, Romanoff has made herself comfortable at a desk, summoning several of the books towards her and spread her ink and parchment sheets over the table.</p>
<p>Fury chuckles. “Better get started. See you guys in four hours.”</p>
<p>“But sir, what’s the-” Steve doesn’t get to finish his question as Fury clicks the door shut behind him, “-research question?”</p>
<p>Romanoff looks up from the first book she’s got open. “Oh, sorry, it’s on the board.” With a flick of her wrist, the books clear a path for Steve to read the question: <em>Describe all theoretically possible sources of Dark Energy, and explain, in detail, the magical origins of each. </em></p>
<p>He reads it several times to himself, and then turns to Romanoff, whose quill is flying across the parchment as she dictates quietly to it. “This is a college level question.”</p>
<p>Natasha stretches out a pale hand to still her tremulous quill before replying him. “Our punishment, Rogers.”</p>
<p>“You really not going to tell me why you got us into trouble here?”</p>
<p>“I would tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” she says, looking him in the eye. He knows she means it as a joke, but there’s a hint of menace in her tone that makes him think that she really might follow through on the part where she kills him. Just as he thinks this, her lips quirk upwards. “If it makes you feel any better, I’d have done exactly the same if Scott Summers had been my patrol partner last weekend.”</p>
<p>She freezes for a moment, and Steve thinks about how Scott Summers had thanked him for getting the gossip vine off his back. Steve knows that Scott had been put into the infirmary because he was allergic to Jean Grey’s cherry flavoured chapstick, but that news had been completely overshadowed by the fact that Natasha had gone and planted a big wet one on Steve while they were supposed to be carrying out prefectorial duties.</p>
<p>“Jean Grey might have come after you, then,” he says, running his mouth before he can think it through, but Natasha’s lips purse into a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. He wonders if she feels relieved that he hadn’t said something stupid like ‘<em>gee that really makes a guy feel special</em>’ because that was <em>just</em> on the tip of his tongue. But he doesn’t say it.</p>
<p>“Retribution for you and the Pukwudgie Quidditch team then,” she says dryly, joking along with him. Steve lets out a small bark of laughter. It’s true; if it hadn’t been for Jean Grey just pipping Peter Parker to the Snitch, Pukwudgie would have had a sweep of their last match. As it was, even though they scored more goals, Grey was just faster than Parker.</p>
<p>“She’s pretty formidable,” Steve points out, momentarily forgetting who he’s talking to, and then rapidly correcting himself. “But you were much scarier in fourth year.”</p>
<p>Now that he really thinks about it, he can’t imagine how long Jean Grey would be in the infirmary for if she tried coming after Natasha for planting one on Scott. Natasha holds his gaze for a moment longer, and in that instant it briefly crosses his mind that it’s weird that she would have kissed Scott if he’d been on patrol with her. He wonders what that could possibly mean.</p>
<p>“I should hope so.” Her smile is small and secretive, and in that instant, the question of if she’s ever actually killed anyone wanders across his mind, unbidden. Her drops gaze to the book in front of her as though she heard him ask it aloud, and her face voids itself of all expression. Had he? He didn’t think so, at least.</p>
<p>There is a beat where he expects another quip from her, an elaboration, anything to offset the awkwardness that falls between them, but she doesn’t say anything; she just goes back to dictating notes to her quill. He glances around the room belatedly, realising that they’re a man short. “I thought Hill was supposed to join us for detention.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t look up from her book. “Misunderstanding with Professor Selvig.”</p>
<p>Just like that, Steve knows he’s been dismissed. He sinks into a desk on the other side of the aisle, summoning several of the titles on the desk towards him with a sigh. One of the books almost hits him in the head, but Natasha doesn’t even flinch on his behalf.</p>
<p>It’s going to be a long night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Natasha gets ready for bed, she keeps replaying that unsaid conversation with Rogers over and over again in her head, and she hears faint condemnation that sounds - again - like Madame B. <em>Sloppy work, Natalia. Letting things slip like that. </em></p>
<p>She knows her reaction to Steve’s thought should have been more tempered, but the thought of being reminded of the blood on her hands was too much.</p>
<p><em>I’m sorry,</em> she apologises to herself, climbing into her lone four-poster. <em>It won’t happen again. It can’t happen again. I am a Romanoff. I am better than this.</em></p>
<p>She closes her eyes.</p>
<p>When she opens them, she’s six again and navigating her childhood home, the Red Room. The familiar tapestries and paintings come to life, her ancestors wandering about on gilded walls through never-ending portrait halls.</p>
<p>They call out to her in sing-song voices - <em>Natalia, Natalia -</em> that once were reassurances of her heritage, of her identity; but now, standing here with an awareness of how things unfolded over the last ten years, of how wrong she had once been, of how wrong her family had once been, these voices feel like taunts.</p>
<p>Her feet stop before a familiar portrait of an imposing woman, with her greying hair severely pulled back into a bun. Her Prussian blue dress is immaculate and she clutches a quivering spaniel under her arm, on which someone had the good sense to put a Silencing Charm. Natasha has never known Prababushka Nastya to have ever moved from her portrait frame, even though she could very well have. No, Prababushka had the figures in other portraits come to <em>her</em>. Prababushka had also never looked quite so imposing before, but there she was, boring a hole into Natasha’s head with her stern-faced gaze.</p>
<p>
  <em>Natasha, malyutka, you are our best little soldier, and you must make us Romanovs proud. </em>
</p>
<p>It is not encouragement or praise: it is the weight of a legacy on her small shoulders. She is only six - no, sixteen this November - <em>wait, I’m confused -</em></p>
<p>Natasha reaches out for the portrait, expecting her hands to be small again but they are her long-limbed fingers -</p>
<p>She waits for Prababushka to say something else - an admonishment for her failures, a withering comment about her newfound weaknesses - but Grandfather is suddenly there taking her hand and guiding her into another corridor of the house -<em> Natasha, malyutka, come with me</em>, <em>let me show you all our creatures of the night </em>- and suddenly Natasha finds herself face to face with a chained Romanian Longhorn, a three-ton monstrosity with scaly green skin, in the great stone antechamber of the Red Room. She has no idea how she got there from the grand portrait hall, or how the dragon got into the heart of their beautiful manor, but Grandfather is there, taking her hand gently and nudging her forward. <em>Is this memory or is this just a figment of her imagination?  </em></p>
<p>The Russian he uses is suddenly more noticeable, more distinct.</p>
<p>“Pozdorovaysya s tvoyey Mama,<sup></sup> malyutka,” Grandfather says, his liver-spotted, gnarled hands squeezing her on the shoulder. The Longhorn looks right back at her, a snarl on its scaly face before flickering once, twice, into a humanoid form with green eyes and curling blonde hair - <em>Mama!</em> - back into a great winged beast, and back into a woman. The woman reaches out for her, and Natasha reaches back - but then she becomes beast again within inches of Natasha and Grandfather snatches her back, barking orders at the keepers nearby to keep it - her? - drowsy and restrained. Natasha finds herself screaming for her mother as the keepers approach the slim woman on the stone floor and she is led out of the vast stone chamber by Grandfather’s iron grip.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Mama! Mama!”</em>
</p>
<p>Suddenly, there is a loud knock on the door, and Natasha is suddenly brought to consciousness - <em>this feels like something she’s cooked up in her head; it doesn’t feel like she’s ever met a Romanian Longhorn - because she hasn’t,</em> her conscious reasons, <em>her mother is a Ukrainian Ironbelly; her mother has never set foot in the antechamber of the Red Room so this dream is not - cannot be - a memory of something burned into her brain from long ago that she’s never really reckoned with.</em></p>
<p>“Natasha? Nat?”</p>
<p>Natasha sits bolt upright in her bed, the burning feeling at her hip particularly intense. It takes her a minute to regain her balance. Her head whips around the room frantically, and she finds that her cheeks are wet. The fireplace has reduced to glowing embers; Goose is curled up by the frosted glass window and she’s in her familiar four poster bed. She breathes a sigh of relief.</p>
<p>She’s still at Ilvermorny. Her mother is not a Romanian Longhorn.</p>
<p>Everything is where it should be. Everything is what it should be.</p>
<p>It’s okay. She’s okay.</p>
<p>She’s <em>fine</em>. Everything’s <em>fine</em>.</p>
<p>The knock comes on the door again. “Nat? Are you okay?”</p>
<p>She takes another breath to compose herself, sweeping the tears and heightened colour out of her face with a flick of her wrist. “Yes?” Her voice sounds normal, thank Merlin.</p>
<p>“It’s me, Bobbi. Can I come in?”</p>
<p>Natasha sucks in a breath and climbs out of bed and opens the door to find a concerned Bobbi Morse and sleepy Colleen Wing on the other side. “Hey, what’s up?”</p>
<p>“I thought I heard you screaming,” Bobbi says, in her blue Ilvermorny sweatshirt and track bottoms. “I mean, we thought you were being…”</p>
<p>“…attacked?” Natasha finishes her sentence.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Bobbi says. They peer into her room, only to see Goose curled up on the window seat.</p>
<p>Behind her, Colleen shuffles awkwardly in her grey robe, her wand in hand. “I told you to have faith in Ilvermorny’s defences,” Colleen mumbles sleepily, turning back to the seventh-year female dorm. “Night.”</p>
<p>Bobbi hesitates in following Colleen, watching Natasha carefully - she’s worried, Natasha knows - and Natasha finds herself relenting. “I was having a nightmare,” she admits.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Bobbi blinks sympathetically. “Do you… want to talk about it?”</p>
<p>“No, but thanks,” Natasha says gently. “For stopping by to check on me. And… I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about it. Especially Clint.”</p>
<p>Bobbi gives her a small smile and mimes zipping her lips, opening the adjacent door. “Feel better, Nat.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Apparently the ‘Advanced Potions Remedial Class - NEWT Level Only’ sign isn’t enough to keep Pepper Potts out of the potions classroom. Not that Tony particularly minded. She was - is - always a sight to behold. (Hang on. No. Pepper can’t be here. This is bad. Bad Pepper.)</p>
<p>So even though Pepper is gorgeous and Tony really wants to start dating her again, Tony has his priorities straight. Pepper isn’t supposed to be here. He finds himself stepping into the path that Pepper would have barrelled down to get to Bruce and their notes, and if he comes face to face with her again, so much the better.</p>
<p>“Miss Potts,” Professor Pym sounds extremely alarmed that Pepper had barged her way into the room where, for the umpteenth time they were trying to adjust the Wolfsbane Potion with little to no success. “Did you not see the sign on the door?”</p>
<p>“Sorry Professor; I came to get Bruce, he’s needed at the Yearbook Com-” she stares at the ingredients that Tony and Bruce have laid out on the bench and frowns quizzically. “Since when do the Potions bros need Potions remedial?”</p>
<p>“It’s me,” Natasha interrupts from the entryway, saving Tony from having to cook up some half-baked explanation. “I’m the remedial Potions student.”</p>
<p>“You?” Pepper asks disbelievingly. “Didn’t you get an Outstanding OWL?”</p>
<p>“The NEWT Syllabus tests different skills,” Natasha lies smoothly.</p>
<p>Tony had always thought Rogers was a bit of a kook for believing in his God, but hell, if ever there was a time to believe in - and thank - a deity of some sort, Tony thought now might be a very appropriate time. It can only be because of some mystic higher powers, he reasons, that Natasha Romanoff had such appallingly good timing and sense to lie to Pepper.</p>
<p>“If you need to, take Mr Banner and go, Miss Potts,” Professor Pym waves dismissively at Pepper, interrupting their little stand-off. “Miss Romanoff, if you will assist Mr Stark so as to perfect your dicing technique.”</p>
<p>Tony has to hand it to Professor Pym - the man picks up on an act very quickly (and believably).</p>
<p>“See you, Professor,” Bruce says, picking up his bag. He shoots Tony a pleading look, but follows Pepper out of the classroom.</p>
<p>“Take your time,” Tony calls after them. The last thing they need is Pepper Potts - or anyone else from the Yearbook Committee, for that matter - tailing him back here because he left in a rush.</p>
<p>Once Pepper is gone, Natasha rounds on Tony. “You owe me big,” she says, crossing over to the cauldron where Tony is attempting to temper the Wolfsbane proto-potion.</p>
<p>“How’d you even-”</p>
<p>“I heard her asking around about where Bruce was, so I followed.”</p>
<p>“But how’d you <em>know</em>?” Tony presses. It’s as though Natasha knew they’d be holed up in here attempting for the umpteenth time to amend the Wolfsbane potion.</p>
<p>“Know what?” She asks innocently, picking up the aconite and tossing it at him. Tony’s eyes narrow at the blue flowers in his hand. That’s confirmation if he’s ever seen it. It’s as though she’s daring him to openly acknowledge it.</p>
<p>Professor Pym sighs. “You might as well tell her what she already knows, Mr Stark.”</p>
<p>Natasha turns her green eyes on him, brows raised. He meets her stare head on.</p>
<p>(It crosses his mind that this is the most screwed up game of chicken Tony’s ever played. Natasha has nothing to lose here, and it’s not Tony’s secret to tell. He’s a bro.) A gleam of <em>something</em> enters Natasha’s eyes, and she turns towards Professor Pym with a look of <em>something</em> that looks a little like… respect? Admiration? Approbation?</p>
<p>“It’s okay, Professor. It’s not his secret to tell. Bruce will tell me when he’s ready.” She turns back to Tony with a deadpan expression that reminds him too much of Professor Fury. “You know, you’re okay, Stark.”</p>
<p>Professor Pym stifles a smirk, and Tony tries not to let how pleased he is by this assessment show. He turns back to Natasha with what he hopes is his usual charm and poise.</p>
<p>“What’s this about an Outstanding Potions OWL?”</p>
<p>“Are you actually surprised?” Natasha asks, still sounding like Professor Fury, flitting around to the ingredient table and flipping through the notes Bruce has taken in his log book.</p>
<p>Tony glances at Professor Pym, who frowns at the level of interest Natasha is taking in their previous experiments. Tony normally doesn’t give a crap about school rules, but he knows that Natasha doesn’t have dispensation from the Headmistress to be here.</p>
<p>Professor Pym steps in because Tony doesn’t know what to say. “Does Professor Fury know you’re here?”</p>
<p>Natasha shrugs, not taking her eyes off the book. “He will, if he doesn’t already.”</p>
<p>Professor Pym shrugs behind her back, and Tony follows her around the classroom as she turns to examine the ingredients on the desk with a critical eye. “What are you doing? Don’t touch that.”</p>
<p>“I’m trying to understand the science here.”</p>
<p>Tony barely refrains from making a misogynistic comment about women and science, because let’s face it, the fact is, Romanoff has an Outstanding Potions OWL. He and Bruce both got good by reading No-Maj books, so he has to know. “Have you read any No-Maj books on chemistry?”</p>
<p>“I’m quite fond of March’s Organic.”</p>
<p>No elaboration, no fancy story about how she came to read one of the most seminal texts in No-Maj advanced organic chemistry. How is it possible that this same girl has no idea what a milkshake is?</p>
<p>“Let me see if I understand what you’re trying to do here,” she says finally, pointing at a set of formulas in Tony’s notebook and the acacia seeds on the table. “You’re trying to find a stable compound to arrest the transformation while Bruce is in humanoid form.”</p>
<p>Tony knows he shouldn’t be surprised. But he’s that kind of misogynistic prick who is anyway. (At least he recognises it. Pepper would be proud.) “Yes.”</p>
<p>“Do we know what that compound is?”</p>
<p>“…No.”</p>
<p>Natasha makes a non-committal sound while she flips through Tony’s notes on their previous experiments. She looks up from the book, apparently having decided that she wants in on this. “Yeah, this is gonna be fun.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They usually have a bit of time between breakfast and Charms on Thursdays, so they’ve parked themselves in front of the fire in the Wampus common room.</p>
<p>Clint finally finds out why Tash and Maria have been so cagey lately, and he thinks that he’s reacted to this - the whole thing about the Dark Energy and Maria’s nighttime Portkey excursions and Natasha kissing Steve to distract Professor Phillips - with great aplomb given that he’s been practically shut out of this since the start of term. By the time the Cone of Silence is withdrawn, the younger students are starting to return to the Wampus common room for a short break before they have to run off for their next lesson. The second and third years are used to seeing Maria - who is very obviously not a Wampus - around, but she draws stares from a couple of first years who have clearly never seen a Thunderbird student seated quite so comfortably on their moss green beanbags.</p>
<p>“What up,” Maria raises a hand in greeting, hand poking over the back of the beanbag without even looking at them. Spooked, they scuttle away. “God, I love doing that. Every goddamn year.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if it’s you or Tasha who scares them more,” Clint comments, idly scratching his nose. He’s flopped, belly down, on the olive chintz sofa. It’s very comfortable, but he’s literally just had breakfast. That omelet could come back up at any time. <em>Better not.</em> He pushes himself into a semi-sitting position.</p>
<p>“Definitely me,” Maria says.</p>
<p>“If you say so.”</p>
<p>Clint doesn’t miss the glare Maria shoots him, but she doesn’t say anything else.</p>
<p>A beat passes in silence where the only thing they hear is the crackling of the fire in the autumn morning and the turning of parchment.</p>
<p>“I’m really regretting taking NEWT-level Charms,” Maria sighs, leaning back in her seat and flipping another page. The beans shift under her, moulding to the back of her head as she pats the beanbag contentedly. “Why doesn’t Thunderbird splash on beanbags for their common room?”</p>
<p>“You’ll just have to ask Professor May to get a set, won’t you?” Rumour has it that Fury bewitched a set of moss-covered boulders himself the year that he’d taken up the DADA post, but no one seems to know, really, whether they were bought or bewitched.</p>
<p>Natasha, who hasn’t said anything since they’d stopped discussing Fury’s assignments an hour ago, scratches her nose with the back of her quill. Clint supposes that she’s jotting out a reply to the letter she received at breakfast - from her cousin at Durmstrang - and gets slightly depressed, because even Natasha (lone wolf extraordinaire, ward of the state) has mail. It’s probably payback that Laura’s not replying him, he thinks, pressing his face into the chintz.</p>
<p>Maybe she hates him now for taking so long to reply her initial letter. It’s been about the same amount of time since he’d sent off the letter.</p>
<p>“I can smell the anxiety on you from here,” Natasha says, prodding him with her foot. “Come on, out with it.”</p>
<p>Or maybe Laura’s busy.</p>
<p>Or maybe she hates him for taking so long to write him.</p>
<p>He lifts his head to glance at Natasha, who hasn’t stopped prodding - kicking might be a better phrase given how painful it’s gotten - his side. Big mistake. Her green eyes pierce into his, and he automatically remembers that she’s a Legilimens.</p>
<p>“Ah,” Natasha says softly, returning to her letter. She has the tact, at least, to put her letter away for later. At this, Maria looks up from her book, snapping it shut. Maria’s eyes bore into his, as though she could rifle through his thoughts as easily as Natasha does, but he knows she can’t.</p>
<p>“Not everyone’s a Legilimens,” she grumbles, but only half-jokingly. Clint can only thank Merlin and all his lucky stars for that. He catches Natasha shaking her head, almost imperceptibly, at Maria.</p>
<p>“We should get to Charms,” is what he says instead, pushing himself off the sofa and side-stepping the issue altogether.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i did getting inside their heads (: </p><p>constructive feedback (esp on characterisation) always welcome!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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